Would You?



My brain plays cruel tricks on me,
reaching out, touching the flighty avatar
whose personality I quilted together
from word plays and snippets.

I sketched my heart on a blank page,
filled in the lines with babble,
when nothing is asked for
and nothing is given in return.
No one knows better how empty
a promise is when it isn't even made.

If you were here instead of there, would I
hold you, kiss you, suck you into my mouth?
Would I promise you the diaphanous lightness of my soul,
and tell you that it doesn't feel so very heavy?

I wouldn't try to tame a single hair on your chest.
I'd lick your cock to hardness, slowly at first,
and suck the cum from you as you cum.
But not for me: for a play on words, a pair of legs,
a smile on ruby-red lips from a movie poster.

And when I cum, is it for the strong, lean thighs,
long fingers that hold so much promise to my breasts?
Is it for the chest sprayed with white,
shaft rampant now and wanting suck once more?
Or is it for the man, a not-so-timid smile playing on his lips?

What strange games we play,
electrons volleying across invisible wires,
crossing blue skies and deep oceans.
Images built over months, faceless, shimmering vague,
chased out by real skin and bone, eyes speaking
in the foreign language of a different heart.

We both jumped back, seared by reality.
Who am I kidding?
If I could take it back, would I? Perhaps not.
To venture and to risk is still a treat, a rush, a kick.
Would you, my friend?

Thank you for listening. I look forward to your comments.