What She Does

She makes me move my instrument of sexual transmission
and yet she is miles away

Anatomically another woman has the same ingredients
and yet that is the only taste that will do

Presented to me in the same fashion is interaction
and yet my fervent cries sound with her unique touch

The individual traits that drive me insane
are seen all around
But it is the composite, the totality of her
that brings all the majestic power to a reality

I have tried isolation to imbue myself with all things her
her voice, her touch, her sound, a picture, a cloth
Poor substitutes for her embraces

Indeed the folly of my ways
is that I have laughed at others in this way
Now find myself staggering
oblivious to the bottomless pit centimeters
from my feet