When he desired me
my lead heart
turned in my chest
orienting itself
to his gaze.

This weak force
that has no name
the gap between
desire and the object
that boils space
only until it touches
then chills and dissolves
in the inevitable
disappointment
of the real.

And so I’m flattered
by his terror
of disillusion
until entropy
reigns supreme.

What else could I do?

5 Responses

  1. In other words, get what you can before you realize it was just a dream. Temptation by itself has told a ton of stories. This one was steamy yet hurt so bad. Such vivid poetry.

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