When The Lights Dim
A poem
I don’t want to see the shiny
facade you show to the world.
I want to stroke
the soft underbelly of you.
I’m not dazzled
by your eye candy.
I’d rather taste
what lies below,
as my bite cracks the shell.
I’m not impressed
by your smartwatch,
only how your analog ticker
is expressed.
I don’t feel aroused
by the horsepower
or the smell of the leather
seats in your car.
I’d rather have a peek
at what’s under your hood
and feel how well I would fit
upon your seat.
I have no desire to view
your personal collection of fine art.
Instead, I crave the feel
of your strokes
as you depict my essence
upon your canvas.
I don’t want to learn of
your future goals.
I’d rather hear how
you acknowledged
your past hurts
that lingered in shadow,
on which the light
now shines upon.
I need,
not want,
to know,
feel,
hear,
touch
and see
all parts of you.
Drink it all in
as I,
in turn
quench you.
That is,
the be all
with no end.
