I am tired of open spaces,
of emotion, spirits and the divine.
I need sensual instinct.
I want you definite. Over my chest.
I want you here and now.
For once, I want you to be hysterical rain instead of howling wind.
I want us to consciously indulge in hedonistic sin.
For once, instead of assuming you feel my pain, I want you to touch my hand.
Transmit your warmth and deliver my numbness.
I’ll count your follicles while you lushly streak blooming tulips over my shut pores.
You’ll caress my nudity on sultry shores,
While I imprison you in rectangles and squares and origami birds.