This is what it is to be Wanton

I am want.

I ache as this mouth quivers gently.
My lips are still.
Beneath their sly countenance I grow slowly wetter.

I have become drumskin.
Such agony.
Each beat of my heart sends a pulse against my maidenhead.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Low, rhythmic, growling
Boom. Boom. Boom.
I wait for each beat.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Like cars with loud radios
The bass reaching out,
An unseen vibration,
Making me shake between my legs,
Like the windows as they pass.

I close my eyes and wish I could climb inside my body
and watch with an owl’s eye
the tremors that have quickened my breath,
the drumbeats that drive my thighs together,
the muscles desperate as they clench at nothing.

The labors of lost lovers rise
like forgotten memories stored secretly in each cell.
Wanton,I long for just one more moment
With any of them,
with all of them,
with anyone.

How much longer, I whisper to mute desire.
How much longer, I ask the wise bird sleeping behind my eye.
How much longer will I be drawn,
taut over the mouth of a drum
and left to suffer?

There is no answer,
as everything
drips with the sweet smell of seaweed,
tastes of salt,
and makes the sad sound
of bees in an over ripe garden.