The long want - a poem

The rope ran from the floor to the ceiling

through the legs and hair

of an anthropomorphic feeling

like wet colors dripping down

an unfinished Dali painting,

waiting,

she was,

for the perfume behind her knees

to waft through the crowd

beneath her.

Waiting

for sunshine to melt down

the inhibitions,

peeling away the onion's layers

of her insular dominion,

crying,

she was,

during the answer of her call.

The epiphany of getting all

that she wanted

now drooling from her lips.

The dimwitted providence

speaking volumes from the epicenter

of her hips.

So life drips with wanting,

sin taxes paid,

wishing orgasms lasted longer than a monsoon rain

as she curls into the fetal

position on her bed of roses,

crying.

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