All The Same

You didn’t stay the night. (I wanted you to.)
All of the aching I have known
in the hours, years, centuries I have known you,
has been born of those singular desires
we’ve been taught
we aren’t allowed to have.
I put my skin to your skin
and I am whole.
I put my mouth to your mouth,
and listen to you sing for me.
I want to know
what you can take.
I want to know
what you’ll take of me.
You make these promises
and you don’t keep them.
This turned from
intangible ache (oh why call it intangible
when we both know
how much I can feel it?) into something
closer to yearning,
but all the same
it’s pain, pain, pain.

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About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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