Handle Me Like Meat.

“You came to me this morning and you handled me like meat.
You’d have to be a man to know how good that feels how sweet…”

A few days away from my little yoga studio now and the libido is soaring– It’s distracting but tolerable in the way that so many of my impulses have now grown– It doesn’t matter. Why would it? Still, there’s something curious about waking up in a hotel room with a person whom is not your lover and not messying up the newly laundered white Egyptian cotton sheets. A first for me, really, excepting family holidays of course. The impulse is strong but it lays dormant, tucked away neatly in the corner folds of the cotton, in a drawer, by the fan, gently cooling– No table over turned, no things tipped and spilled off of flat surfaces. No out-doing the neighbours. Just heat. And inclination. And a soft, grumbling hum… A background. A landscape.

It feels like a waste.
I know it’s not. I know it’ll pass. I know it won’t feel so neatly tucked away forever.

I need you.
I don’t need you.
I need you
I don’t need you…
And all of that jiving around–



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