Untitled Shawna Ayoub

Untitled by Shawna Ayoub

your simple phrases and casual embraces embarrass me. to the point that I want to run instead of stick with you. and I'm sick of you so walk away hand in hand if it's going to mean anything otherwise go separately because that's all I can stand. is it anger or jealousy? I think it is neither and both because I long for what you feel but I am dismayed by what you are when you are together apart is when I love you most it is then that you need loving and then that I need to give it but nowI cannot give and you cannot take so I say a temporary farewell to a friend until I regain a friend when you can be a friend instead of a toy for cuddling.

by Christopher Harris Bloomfield

Thought Progression, Lost Love

I don't have what it takes, I think, to run where it is that I want to go, unless of course

I find my stride, in which case I'm golden in all that I do and nothing will stop me on

my way to wherever my eyes last glance upon in final moments of inspiration. Long

winded I know but I'm sure that it's true, showing no signs of imminent failure like past

theories on flight, and this leads to assurance of lasting confidence.

Ah, but I've not seen her for days feel like weeks seem like she's just a dream I have

every night in the center of my pillow's feathered curve where I'm cradled and carried

off to be with her for as long as I can keep my eyes closed. I miss the taste of her skin

when we laid in bed for days, when she was warm and soft, fresh from her dreams.I

long for the smell of her breasts smell like apples as ripe as the season allows.

Stop it, you think too much! What good can come from all of this thinking? I'm sure

nothing much but the discovery of my own ignorance. But I miss the metamorphosis of

her mind, odd to weird, weird to something I've yet to figure out, as if to say I know all

about the other phases. Even now I can see the hairs of her neck prickle to attention with

the introduction of my warm breath. I can see it almost touch it. Almost, but she's not

here, or there even. Nothing but a dream I have when the strains of the day become

more than the normal dosage. She's moved on I'm sure but I'm lost and not found in the

last place that she would ever think to look. She can't see me, but I want to tell her, I

have to or she might never understand what she does to me, what I can't do to myself or

anyone else.