an abstraction that exists only in the mind of its owners, and it is known to them as though a statue.

something limp, offered like for a kiss, tenderly handled but my lips rebuked for a fear of acceptance, for fear of forwards motion; but considered at extent, existing longer in consideration than in its original fleeting nature. an imagined touch that still inspires sweat on my skin as real as the outdoor showers at a beach could clean it. a sin of a dream that i would’ve committed a thousand times if given the choice, with shame every time. sins that shock me and i am enervated then energized. something stolen that was never even possessed? why did it feel stolen? may i have it later? all the wrong questions have been found, now let’s stop asking them.

what’s your texture? is it oily or dry? is it oily because it was dry? is it trying to compensate for something? can’t push can’t push can’t push can’t push

the chances missed by an instant make me want to tear my nails down drywall and bleed. maybe i could turn it into pretty shapes or some words that wouldn’t mean anything to a reader’s mind but might to her heart. waiting to hear the voice that’s echo-bait for audiation.

i can’t always control the places my mind goes; am i allowed to loosen my tensions so it wanders where it wants? it hurts me but you feel soft in my memory and i want to stay with you. an arbitrary selection of considerations of the way your skin might stretch when i pull it. i could probably scream and noise would come out.