Friday, 4 December 2009

The Way You Love Me

I sometimes think about how I want to be loved. The only way I can see myself in love is madly. I don't want him to want to touch me, I want him to need to touch me. The contact, not oppressive or excessive, has to be instinctive. He leads me from the room, he touches my hair, he grazes my leg. I want him to feel antsy if I'm across the room. Not exactly an obsession but close enough. It's not that I don't want us to function independently, I do. In fact I demand it but when we are together, we are with each other.

I like it when men order for me. They may ask what I want before hand. It's just common courtesy. And I am well aware I have my own voice. I use it often, perhaps too often. But the idea of a man demanding my attention, ordering my food or allowing me to do things just makes me tingle. I want him to want me like that. Want to be with me so badly that the only way he can handle his emotions is to control the situation.

I also want to watch him lose it. Become so frustrated that he can't wait another second to crawl inside my skin. In a good way... in a 'I have to take you roughly against this wall because I can't think straight until I do' way. I want to be his calming effect in a way that's far from calming. I want it to be desperate. I want us to both be mad.

The physical:
An empty bedroom
The desired:
It seems like I want too much these days...
The feeling in the forefront:
The smothering sense:
Olfactory - the smell of home on my pillow
In absence of misplaced action:
My current action seems oddly fitting
If I were listening closely:
There is nothing...

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