THE FEAST (To B.)

How ironic are these famished eyes gazing at me, as if I was a feast
After you signed the dotted line of the contract platonic
And now I can smell you, for you are a scent that I have hunted (you are close)
like a nameless musk that drapes itself over the fabrics and apparel
That paints itself faintly
blending into the memories & skin

And I close my eyes, but I can feel you--
this heat from your breath & body 
your lips creeping closer and closer--
bravely skimming the skin of mine
all in hopes that we could somehow cling to each other 
like wet towels
that there could be friction and zeal- cycles of pleasures
to feel once more my nails scraping down your arched back bare

and I can hear you as you 
try to sell this moment to me, (as you've done in the past)
as if it was something exciting
As if it would bring us pleasure
As if it was something good
as if it was something I wanted and needed
but we both know it's only because 
you can't have me, that you want me....
In love, In lust with the chase and hunt...
yes, I know you all too well. 

these lips pressing
At the corners of this uneasy smile
You're still waiting for my mouth to shift into a kiss
But you can't sell me this moment
I'm all too aware of how this song and dance goes
In the moment I am the opiate that you crave without shame
Ha--As if I was yours to even crave
I am a feast that you once had, my friend
But am no longer yours to taste.