-idle offering
would you recognise me from my scent,
if after all these years,
absence became our,
amicable agreement?
would you yearn the nail caress,
goose bump neck,
cactus skin,
or my silent tongue?
would you pang for my arms,
that although squeeze just enough,
to bring the threat of a boa constrictor to mind,
also have enough healing,
to make you forget all your hurt?
would you long for my vulnerability,
which makes you feel accomplished?
I want to be a yearned thing,
so here I am,
all of me,
offering.
can you feel my sting,
gnashed teeth,
ball in throat,
burning?
there’s nothing,
I wouldn’t bring,
no ode I wouldn’t sing,
no prose makes it to my heart,
except it expels, in oft returning,
wave and mystifying ebbing.
a webbing, silken spider,
venomous confider,
out comes everything.
I don’t own anything,
so I am much more comfortable,
in giving,
you everything,
just to be that yearned thing.
-W.E.
