james marx - poetry
what I write is fiction, what you read in it is the truth.
quod me nutrit me destruit
Tattoo'ed sleeve and bright pink bra,
Pretty face made up to shine,
Flimsy top and hugging jeans,
She simply begs for more.
Yet she cannot, does not,
Will not see, nor ever know,
What she has done or
Will do still, for evermore.
He craves to touch,
To feel, to be the one
That holds her close
And be so near.
He refuses, will not,
Does not dare, to do
The same as just before,
But thinking cannot bear.
They circle slow and close, just
Reaching, grasping, does not touch.
copyright JD Marx 2014