The Unattainable Man

He is always lingering in the back of my wandering mind

While I am aimlessly daydreaming with empty but open eyes,

Just as I am now,

Of places that I would rather be,

Like in his apartment between his midnight sheets,

Under his spell that he casts with a single glance,

Instead of residing in my own hell, where an eternity of nothing awaits.

Of things that I would rather see,

Like his muscular tattooed arms that grip me so tight,

And his eccentric aura that consistently screams New York,

Instead of repetitive memories that make my own mind a war zone, a savage battlefield. 

Of things I would rather hear, 

Like his voice that can melt even the burning sun 

And the rhythm of our breathing as we shut out the world,

Instead of the taunting, amplified voices of the ghosts of my past. 

And all of this sounds just fine to me. 

Infatuation is what it's called,

To feel this way about someone.

To feel this way about him.

It is not an eternal love. 

But it is no schoolgirl crush.

It is somewhere in between heaven and reality,

Where I let him take me as high as he pleases,

To heights that I had never before imagined,

Because I know that wherever he is,

I sure as hell want to be too.

He is the most absolute perfection that I have ever known,

And he is the only perfection that I would ever need.

If only that one thing wasn't standing in my way.

Months pass like centuries, 

Time slipping by so slowly, so gradually.

But when our paths collide once more, 

It's like I never left.

His lips crash into mine like a meteor hitting earth at full speed,

Flames bursting in all directions,

But the heat is bliss.

His hands grip my body as if I have a million dollars beneath my skin.

The pressure tightens,

The pain turns to pleasure.

His lips explore me as if I am foreign territory, foreign paradise.

Every inch of me vulnerable. 

Every inch of me his.

And this is not love,

Or even a crush.

It is a forbidden longing for something that was thought to be unattainable.

If he is sin

Then maybe sin is right 

For how could something so euphoric be so terribly wrong ?

And so he calls me a goddess,

As I rule his kingdom for the night. 

My hair is gripped in his hands,

The intensity reaches its height. 

But such intensity refuses to live forever.

And so the heat that was bliss

Becomes a pool of ice,

Freezing me in my last moments with him.

But I can still see the flames in his eyes.

The pressure of his body, of his hands on me is lifted,

And my body feels an aching for something.

But this ache has never been felt until now. 

He has explored every part of my map,

I am foreign no more.

But I'm still his paradise.

I give him back the keys to his kingdom ,

Because dawn has arrived,

Signaling the end of another beginning. 

But I'm still his goddess. 

So I pick myself up off of this midnight sheets,

The early morning sun spraying the room with light. 

I study the beauty of the ink his masculine body.

And then I leave, taking the night with me.