novel romance

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

we both wonder how much imagination is he really worth to me?

he stimulates my thought process enough,

and then i can't take it anymore.

i want to entertain the idea for a minute,

and another,

and more,

forever.

.....

...

he whispers softly, seductively in my ear,

'dance, monkey, dance!',

and my inspiration unwinds!

out come these dirty words for the world to read,

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

a new edition,

hardcover on demand.

do you like it like that?

i want him to be written all over my poetry,

until he reaches every punctuated letter of my climax;

paper, pen, and ink fly through the air,

this way and that.

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

no limits.

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

no regrets.

our euphoric eyes locked,

just as mine roll back,

we braced for the intensity of the end

and my imagination became explosive.

.....

...

everybody tells me these stories rarely have a happy ending.

torn pages fall;

scattered,

restlessly settled;

i am sated, for now.

until he goes and leaves me, retrograde in my head..

again.

.....

...

we rebound our lips,

and our hearts untwined -

silence fell like daggers from the air.

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

he agrees that he does too,

and we both know he never will;

but, despite myself, i do, and

i am as he goes.

he tosses my creation in the fire;

out of context,

between the lines.

i wonder if he really appreciates all the 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 who i am on the cover.

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.