Samael and the Four Angels

I never loved you -

eyes glaring, body wanting

sensuality.

I only want you

in petty pleasure rain dance;

I keep my clothes on.

Conscious desire

takes the backseat as morals

flood all five senses.

I do not love you -

physicality haunts me,

embalmed with my fear!

***

I stare at my feet.

My inhibition consumes the moment

and it is my inhibition that keeps me here.

I decide on my indecision;

knees week and palms sweaty

in the conscious desire

of lust and love.

I pocket my hands as they

begin to tremble.

Thoughts stammer as I toy

with these silly syllables;

sentences slithering with paper syntax.

They are dulled -

transmuted by my own feelings of

inadequacy.

They fall upon deaf ears.

I find my bashfulness on the asphalt

as I exchange it between my right and left foot.

Our eyes don't meet.

I fear that any visual contact would

cheapen the moment.

The forgiving asphalt

does not reflect my face,

contorting in physical

manifestation of my confusion.

A comforting hand grasps mine

and there are no reservations

due to my clammy palms.

My mouth goes dry as I try

to palate every inch

of pride left in my body.

I close my eyes and try

not to think of what

brought me here;

the twisted, self-mutilating

situations that have forced

me to covet the touch

of another human being.

Physical beauty has haunted me.

Maybe it's my fault for

putting so much stake into it.

I am swept up in the sheer

ecstasy of the moment.

Underneath the streetlight,

I give her twenty bucks.

We head into the motel.