novel romance

he says he wants me to write him like a graphic romance novel-

we both wonder how much

is he really worth my imagination?

he stimulates my thought process enough,

until i realize i can't take it.

and yet, i want to entertain the idea

and for one minute i do,

and another,

and more,

forever.

.....

...

he whispers softly, seductively in my ear,

'dance, monkey, dance!'

and my inspiration unwinds for him!

out come these dirty words for the world

and i like to watch them watch him take it all in-

a new edition,

hardcover on demand.

are stories enough to keep hold of his attention?

i want him to be written poetically all over my pages,

until he reaches every punctuated letter

of my climax;

paper, pen, and ink flying,

this way and that.

we can't tell whose books or whose lines are whose anymore!

'no limits,' printed on glass ceilings.

i can't even feel where one story starts and the other one ends anymore!

'no regrets,' isn't asking for forgiveness.

our euphoric eyes lock just before mine roll back,

we braced for the intensity of the end

and my imagination

explodes.

.....

...

everybody told me

these stories rarely have happy endings.

torn pages falling;

scattered,

restlessly settling on the floor around us;

i am sated, for then.

because when he comes

he will always leave,

and i go retrograde

in my head..

again.

.....

...

neither of us can be heard above the other's fears

while we confess the pain of rebinding our lips,

and our hearts untwining.

vulnerability sprang from my mouth,

alarming and unexpected,

making the silence fall like daggers from the air:

"i hope you'll read my notes on love again, soon."

he agrees that he does too,

yet, we both know he never will;

but, despite myself, i do still hope.

now, i am quiet as he leaves,

tossing my creations in the fire;

out of his context,

between the lines of my burning dreams.

i am left to contemplate the undeniable -

if he really appreciates all the true stories i could bring to life for him?

for his pleasure and for mine;

if he could only share my words with the world.

he could be the first to see me unedited,

beyond what the cover describes.

i want a man who wants to help me turn this fantasy into non-fiction.

nobody can write that story for me,

live forever,

or help me where he's going.