The Waiting  

I sit in waiting.
For him to call upon me.
There’s something he possesses  
that I desperately crave.
I’m lost in his ocean,
Engulfed in his wave.
A predicament  
that from only him,
I can be saved.
He’s lingering in the doorways  
of my imagination,
careful not to be seen.
Sweet whispers of approval  
from his mouth to my ear.
His respectable nature,
like a burst of fresh wind.
I’m entrapped in his mystery,
it feels like sin.
His choice of dialect,
brews an orgasmic rush.
I feel myself yearning,
almost aching  
for his touch.
I’m parched for a drop  
of an ounce of his trust,
Overwhelmed with curiosity.
Plagued with lust.
My heart says  
‘wait for him’,
while I scream,  
‘It’s now or never!’
I assume  
he finds amusement  
in my attempts  
to be clever.
 
 
My darling stranger  
you can not evade me forever...
There will come a time  
where you will seek me out,
but I won’t come to you.  
You’ll be driven  
by the thoughts of  
me making love to you.
Sooner or later,
I’ll be more  
than just a simple muse to you.
continue to bury yourself in your craft,
if that’s what you choose to do....
 
 
 
I sit in waiting.
Trying so hard
to numb my persistence.
Exercising the patience  
that I never knew existed.
But maybe every butterfly  
isn’t meant to be caught.  
Maybe there’s a lesson at hand,
waiting to be taught.
Maybe it’s a gentle reminder  
that life isn’t so bad.  
May be here to  
instill something..
Something I never had..
It’s hard to say.
But for now,  
I’ll just sit and wait.