STARVED
Do you know what it means to want you, to crave the fragrance of the days’ work on your skin, to want your long hands clasping behind my back?
Do you know what it means to want to be wanted? To be craved for like oxygen, to be the very and only thought in another’s mind, to be the object of one’s fantasy?
Do you know what it means to be starved? To see what you want and be unable to touch it or even dare to bring up the conversation?
To be so close to you yet, be unable to touch you has got to be the most punishment ever designed.
To be in your presence and fight to appear absent is an illusion I can’t comprehend anymore.
To crave you and act like one who’s stuffed full of sand is crazy; this is tasteless.
Do you understand the gravity of our vows or do you starve me so you can feel like an expensive commodity? Mind you, hunger will always find its satisfaction.
I want you. I’m just not sure you want me in that way.
I want to be wanted with a passion and a zeal that feels like a blue flame; consistent and constant.
I want to be held and snuggled, cuddled and caressed with the dexterity of an old lover.
I want to be wanted with all the passion of a faithful devotee.
I want to be wanted like an answer to fervent prayer and not like an afterthought.
I want to be wanted like music on the dance floor, water from the shower and food in the kitchen. I want to be wanted as an essential, integral part of life.
I want to be wanted and I will no longer go on this hunger strike.
