The novelty of this is
exquisite.
In my adult life, I've never gone this long without allowing another human to touch me.
A new concept
the next time it happens, it will mean something.

Did you moan my name by mistake?
Did it catch in your throat,
get tangled up in the lie,
stick to the roof of your mouth like something foul?

Or did you forget me completely,
just for a moment,
just long enough to let her pull you under?

I bet you touched her the way you used to touch me.
Slow, deliberate,
like you wanted to make it mean something.
Like you wanted to convince yourself
this wasn’t betrayal,
just… something that happened.

You’re a ******* joke.

Did you kiss her after?
Did you pull her close like she was yours?
Did she believe you
when you whispered the same empty promises
you spoon-fed me?

I wonder if she smelled me on your skin.
If she felt my ghost in your hands.
If she knew she was just a grave
you were burying me in.

And then you came home.
Sat in our bed like nothing was different,
like the sheets weren’t stained with your filth,
like you weren’t rotting from the inside out.

Did you think I wouldn’t notice?
That I wouldn’t taste the decay
in the air between us?
That I wouldn’t feel the way your love
curdled into something sour?

You want to lie?
Fine.
Choke on it.
Rot in it.
Drown in it.

But don’t you dare touch me with those hands.
Not now.
Not ever again.

You buried me
Half the world away
And a lifetime ago

Yet you find me
In your every daydream
In every foreign touch
In every what if...

Almost...
But never quite

it is without guile or guilt

more a minor shock & swoosh,

that the power to please oneself

comes so easily without interference,

new and the familiar, a mixture of

stand alone, but jumbled, mumbling &

partying in concert, inflation inflicted

words within, falling out onto personal

plains of skin of human vegetation, into

human orifices to be tongue-tasted, be

drunk by ears open for sensuality, be

touched, fondled, pressed and creased

for storing in the bank of memory, by

irrigation of eye droplets falling from

all human’s white sight~gatherers, by

nostrils flaring, reddened by waves

of excitations and pleasured anticipations,

whenever your new combinations of

words intermingle me, a step closer to

a being, drinking in additions whole,

achieving a holier than previous

experience

I envy the rain,
for it can touch your pretty face,
trace your lips,
and rest upon your skin
ever so gently,
while I was never allowed
to touch you
as intimately as it does.

The feelings are all too familiar
Rough couches
Brown so bright it’s orange
So cold it burns
So soft it cuts my skin
I can’t recognize it
The feelings are all too familiar