Gravitational

I want you.

I probably shouldn't.

But I want you.

Now I could say

That it's for your charm,

Your winning personality.

Only I don't really know you

But I know I want your body.

You draw me in;

I can't resist it.

You've got a pull,

And it's magnetic.

Perhaps it's got something to do

With pheromones,

Or maybe it's just that time of the month

And I'm on overload

Bursting at the seams

With a surplus of hormones.

Whatever it is,

I don't need to explain it.

I'm done overthinking

And I say f*** it!

I know that I want you.

And I'm going for it.

Sexual Healing Suite 1: Celibacy Black and Blues

This lady sang a song

Bemoaning her sad state,

The blues of a circumstantial celibacy 

That had come to be her fate.

I, for one, have never been bothered 

By lack of activity on that account,

And to me these matters seemed 

No great trial to surmount.

But lately there's this nagging feeling

Pulling at my mind.

And though I push it out the way,

It just won't stay on the side.

I've tried the homemade remedies,

The showers tinged with ice

But they just mock my efforts

And tighten up the vice.

See sometimes a body needs a body

To hold them through the night:

To kiss.

To hug.

To make sweet love

 Until embraced so tight,

Together you reach the height 

Of  lovers' bliss

On the wings of pure delight;

Then fall asleep, well content,

To the rhythm of their caresses,

And wake to see the golden dawn

Reflected in their tresses. 

So here I find myself a victim of this celibacy

And Jill, I feel you girl

'Cause this thing here, is really workin' on me...

The Rhythm of absence

In and out,

Forward and back,

Like waves on a grainy seashore

Silvered by the beams

Of the wide, greedy moon

Toying with her flexible lover-

Pushing and pulling

In ancient cyclical time.

Left and right,

Up and down,

You tug at the edges of my mind

In similar regular motion:

Intense and gentle,

Yet only half serious,

You ply my malleable will

Into acceptance;

Then quickly pull away-

A clean, premature click

That leaves me unfulfilled

Yet unable to shake my desire.

These ghost-like appearances-

Phantom interventions-

chill and haunt me.

Your ethereal presence

materialises only in your absences:

Here, then not.

Beside me, then suddenly far away.

Like prairie grasses

Rippling and swaying

In the playful caresses

Of a mischievous breeze,

Then left in motionless expectation,

Waiting for the next breath

To set them back asway.

But the pattern has become familiar,

And loneliness, a pet vice.

So that even were I to break free

From this rhythmic circle,

My life would lie limp

and lifeless,

Dull and still like a moss green pond

Whose surface only ripples

With the fleeting assaults of passing clouds.

And so I live.

From absence to presence

To disappearance renewed.

Content to move along with the tide;

Feeling no remorse

And no resentment.

Just going with the flow,

At one

With the rhythm of your absence.