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Description
Words exchanged,

conversations begun?

Doubtful.

No sex, no speech.

Why bother?

Miles stretch and yawn;

and I no longer crave you.

No more do I seduce you,

for now I have no reason.

Flirted my way through

your defences,

through your pants.

Without the sex,

will there be speech?

Bodies do not mesh

and sweat.

Is there anything left

to say, now our bodies

are mute?

Asphyxiated.

Dehydrated, lusting after

something more than

enticing delicious threats.

All-consuming desire has

evaporated.

Like you.

I have no desire

to speak, now that there is

nothing more to us.

Can we ever talk again

now that sex

is out of our picture?

Of what?

Do tell.

Empty exchange,

hollow dialogue.

Speak of that

which interests me.

“ ”

Suspicions confirmed.

And of your pursuits?

I can say even less.

Suspicions confirmed.

Miles stretch and yawn,

and I have no ambition

to melt the space away.

My comfort zone

a one hundred mile radius.

So far away;

and now I am glad of it.

No awkward silence

in the street, at school.

No sincere effort

to make friends again;

too much bad blood.

Blood born of confusion

and poison taints it,

taunts me, haunting

sleep and dreams.

Sex has fallen

by the wayside;

as has our existence

once fused in playful debauchery.

The simple ability to converse

of matters other than

lustful exploits

does not come easily to us.

Even now we argue,

fight over past deeds

involving you, me,

the wrong done by all.

The promises broken,

forgotten, in the warm haze

of loneliness with another

staring lovingly, wishing, hoping.

Mine, yours,

doesn’t matter now.

Without sex,

there won’t be speech.

We filled hours with

tempting, giggling,

sweating and kissing.

Now, without the

tension?

What could there

possibly be?

Miles stretch and yawn

and we cannot fill them with words,

no matter how well intended.

Well-intention between us

produces only more bitterness.

Resentment builds,

distrust has a foothold.

Miles stretch and yawn

and we have nothing to say.

Bridge over what’s done

burned by trust

and tonight,

your greed.

My greed, lust, gluttony

matched now by yours.

We are on

even ground.

Tooth for tooth.

Are you glad of it?

Description
Words exchanged,

conversations begun?

Doubtful.

No sex, no speech.

Why bother?

Miles stretch and yawn;

and I no longer crave you.

No more do I seduce you,

for now I have no reason.

Flirted my way through

your defences,

through your pants.

Without the sex,

will there be speech?

Bodies do not mesh

and sweat.

Is there anything left

to say, now our bodies

are mute?

Asphyxiated.

Dehydrated, lusting after

something more than

enticing delicious threats.

All-consuming desire has

evaporated.

Like you.

I have no desire

to speak, now that there is

nothing more to us.

Can we ever talk again

now that sex

is out of our picture?

Of what?

Do tell.

Empty exchange,

hollow dialogue.

Speak of that

which interests me.

“ ”

Suspicions confirmed.

And of your pursuits?

I can say even less.

Suspicions confirmed.

Miles stretch and yawn,

and I have no ambition

to melt the space away.

My comfort zone

a one hundred mile radius.

So far away;

and now I am glad of it.

No awkward silence

in the street, at school.

No sincere effort

to make friends again;

too much bad blood.

Blood born of confusion

and poison taints it,

taunts me, haunting

sleep and dreams.

Sex has fallen

by the wayside;

as has our existence

once fused in playful debauchery.

The simple ability to converse

of matters other than

lustful exploits

does not come easily to us.

Even now we argue,

fight over past deeds

involving you, me,

the wrong done by all.

The promises broken,

forgotten, in the warm haze

of loneliness with another

staring lovingly, wishing, hoping.

Mine, yours,

doesn’t matter now.

Without sex,

there won’t be speech.

We filled hours with

tempting, giggling,

sweating and kissing.

Now, without the

tension?

What could there

possibly be?

Miles stretch and yawn

and we cannot fill them with words,

no matter how well intended.

Well-intention between us

produces only more bitterness.

Resentment builds,

distrust has a foothold.

Miles stretch and yawn

and we have nothing to say.

Bridge over what’s done

burned by trust

and tonight,

your greed.

My greed, lust, gluttony

matched now by yours.

We are on

even ground.

Tooth for tooth.

Are you glad of it?