i wait, i want, i write

there is just enough time left
to touch myself until i come silently
with my mouth open in the dark
and no sound emitted,

to push my face into the sheets
and the pillows and breathe in their smell
like the creeper i am,

to creep about the living room
washing dishes and cleaning things
and pick up the clothes on the bedroom floor
like a housewife

and roll around,content housecat,
on the bed in my underwear

without your gaze pulling those strings
that tighten my shoulders
and lace my spine with shivering needles.

there is just enough time left
to sense the difference between my fingers
and yours touching the most sensitive cunt in the world

to note with throbbing olfactory bulb
the fading fragrance of your hair
and unwashed skin,

to throw things around the room
for the sake of a mess to occupy my mind,

to acknowledge the futility of half-nakedness
without your leer to make it naughty

without your gaze pulling those strings
that straighten my spine with consciousness
of your presence, and gently shakes my spine

before you come home to me at last.

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