I long

to be touched

by those hands,

you claim to have.

Some sick love,

- or maybe lust

to have what it is

I want.

I know how to want,

but not how to have,

nor how to get.

Waste your time girl

waiting on a dream,

broken promises

of those late night ideas shared.

Trips planned,

fantasies made.

I want to taste you,

have you,

to touch you.

How I sound

like that dirty old man,

with images of young flesh,

with so much of me

young and lost

as it is, on it's own.

The things invoked;

awakened affection,

colours painted,

but what can be told

with a world between.

Others come

and go,

others have come

and gone,

still I'm here for you;

not waiting

but offering thoughts,

(maybe feelings)

I have no courage for,

no reason to share,

just listen.

I know how to want,

not how to have.

Are you

one of those,

leaving footprints in my life

but never

really here?

Did I leave any marks on yours?

Silly delusions, girl.

You know,

learning who you are

can mean nothing,

still not living

up to the ideals,

that nasty reality.

How that old man

creeps up,

confuses age:

can be older,

but feel younger under you.

I long

to be touched

by someone,

who touches me like you.