Like Only She Can

I have this hurting kind of love,

that’s just on the surface

where my skin aches

to be touched.

I want to be wrapped up

like only she can.

Yesterday I unblocked

all the digital hurdles

I’ve been stumbling over for years.

I’m trying to figure out

how to understand

how to give up

and simply let someone in.

You’re so wrapped up,

inside me,

always there moving

in and out of all my crazy plans

where we plan

how to divide and conquer the weekend.

She’s a hard target to pin down

it’s the reason why

she insists on keeping me busy

far from my unfinished eyes.

I hurry to make time up.

A lifetime has gone by

since I’ve laid on her

making love with my eyes.

It’s hard to explain

the kind of love

that is held only for her,

she prefers it better this way.

I’m not revealing too much?

I ask, simply because

I know that she’s the she.

Every minute is spent

buried in some precious moment

where we’re always trying to get to that place

where we’re feeding each other.

This overflow,

our love-sick condition

our decade of devotion

we spent wrapped up

trying to catch on.

The balance of moving on and forward

seems to come at a price

where a lot of the blanks in life

simply get passed over.

I have to be filled in

by some other person.

Tell me I can be allowed

to be the one

who is charged with

writing all the pretty words about you,

in real time.

The years are piling high,

and yet,

it doesn’t seem matter

there is this distance

and from a distance

I see your face.

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