Restless.
Can’t sleep at nights
Restless.
I long for
the touch of mine other,
an instant balm,
a soother.
My my,
you used
to be
something
I could say was
mine.
You are my love.
You are
everything I thought
could be for me,
bottled up in an elixir
a life-giving liquid
exchanged only between
us.
Between lovers
Between legs
Between lips.
My my,
You used
to be
something that was
mine.
You used to belong to me.
***
Maybe not.
Perhaps the reality
I live in my head
is not
in fact
reality
as it were,
but
Lust, as it must
have been
because love
tends to last
longer
than a snowcone,
longer than a sugar grain
longer than mingled breaths
in the heat of a moment
or kisses
in the rain.
Maybe not.
Perhaps
it was all
an illusion,
a pretty picture,
a fairytaled fable,
a comforter
to my restless soul.
Forever roaming within
asking questions
driving me mad.
I presumed
this was bad
so
I might have,
just might have
recreated a love story
in my head
to match
the one I wish
could be read
as mine,
as ours.
***
My my,
You used
to be
something
I could say was
mine.
The Writings. by Victoria. 