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I’m half empty down to just below my waist line
waiting, still, thick and viscous
sticky with spreading salty memories.
I long for you to dip into me, slowly, little
by little, not too much to spoil the flavour.
But you wait, take your time, your fingers
poised over some international scandal,
the soccer game, your eyes probing the ink
of an underwear advertisement as if you could
peel it off the page.
Don’t think I’m jealous, you marmalade lover,
I know your every move, Mondays and Wednesdays
scrambled, Fridays hard boiled. Today is Sunday,
my day, we’ve been doing it this way for years
so why keep me waiting, my mouth open watching you?
Sunlight streams through the window into me,
I’m melting! Look my way. Lick your lips just a
little with the tip of your tongue like you always do.
Please. I request, gathering my self respect for
the last time before I withdraw back into that
cold dark place where all passion forgets itself.
Look at me now.
I knew you would, you old devil.
© Johnmichael Simon
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