I'm like a Vulcan when you aren't around.
Logical, distant, evaluating you
like a product with my friends. The
consumer with a lifetime of buying.

But near you I am a prisoner of some
consciousness independent of thought,
like a fever or the dreamer, with the
merest semblance of control.

You are light and loose, hair like
Spanish moss and skin like cedar resin,
all laughter and agonizing beauty. The
way you lean across the table I only
think of kissing you.

I'm sure at times it must show,
like a red stain on a white dress or some
inconvenient erection.. You have some
license on me, a key to a place in me I
keep hidden and close, you fit some
interior template of desire.

What good is freedom if I can't tell you!!?

Oh, The ragged vagaries of loves games..
1000 emotions and I am deserted to
silence by some rule of thumb. By a
faltering consumer confidence or
some feeling of inward nakedness..
when all I want in the world
is an open kiss or to give you an
intimate scented something...

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