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I See His Hair
I see his hair,
His golden locks,
That flutters through the air,
That spills over his ears like a seaside consuming its rocks.
The shape of his jaw,
The line of his nose,
The feeling in my stomach is raw,
The smell of his clothes.
His slim waist,
His perfect height,
My want to taste,
The thought of things that might.
My desperation,
My lust,
My confusion,
My want of trust.
I wish I could write:
The look in his eyes
The feel of my hand as he held it tight,
Unfortunately though, all of these feelings are just one sick disguise.
I do not love him,
His humours bizarre,
I do not want him,
We’ve nothing in common as he detests poetry, plays, music and anything to do with an electric guitar.
A man of politics and science,
I feel nothing for him,
What he lacks in looks is made up with my defiance,
Then why can’t I dismiss this one little whim.
My loneliness consumes me, I consume my loneliness.
