Pretend

Alabaster sanctuary,
lifting auras like light
spilling through the blinds
in mid morning,
she says this is her favorite part
of the day,
when walls are warmed
from the sun’s kisses.

Speaking using mouths,
in tongues I recall as familiar.
Observantly admiring a home,
her home,
I was welcomed here once
and buried myself deep in sheets
in hopes the scent of ivory
would stay buried in my nostrils
long after I said goodbye.

Her skin was soft,
it felt like silky fantasies
and glimpses of heaven
from her illusioned eyes.
She was all over every inch
of my skin,
Her minx, was expensive
and grandeur,
alluring,
but deceiving
as it held beneath it a
cold heart.

The only option was to become
unashamed of the crime,
of slipping into pretend love
with sex that was only meant
to be brief and
forgotten.
I couldn’t forget her.
I didn’t want to forget her.
I was starved for her counterpart,
for spectacular moments
of obsession.

I was hungry for more than her body,
but had to once again contain
the primal thirst
that burn’s in anyone’s throat
who has ever had that forbidden stir
in their chest.

If I could somehow come up with the right words,
to whisper into her open mouth,
then maybe we could be-
But isn’t that what we all expect?
Poetry does nothing for one sided love,
except justify
the writer’s stupid feelings.