On my Bed Thinking About You
On my Bed Thinking About You If I could touch without hurting you I would run all the way to the river and back. But nothing has changed. You are voiceless, crouched in some long-forgotten childhood hiding place, a dark jungle where every tree looks like every other tree. I long for your scent, your knees pushing against my thighs, but what is asked for is often destroyed by the very words that seek it. My bed is a fossilized prison where I learn to make love to you forever.