I know a sheet of paper
with ink softly tinted
can't touch either of you
like my presence,
but it's what the distance gives.
An electric pulse
across hard metal wires
may imitate my voice
and thoughts,
This is more true a connection
to the place inside me
reaching out,
A storybook romance
can't compete with
the harsh desire
one touch will bring,
I see one soft hand
at the corner of my eye,
It reaches to me
more understanding than my own,
connected to the reflection of my sex,
it's own sex.
Beside me is another,
Fevered as the completion,
Grasping the two
more deeply inside
than it's own,
yet different than us before,
He is no more beautiful than she,
for I desire them,
I am a beast.
Yes, look and see me aggressive,
White against the night
my skin is the beacon,
Could I be attacked,
ravaged by the others,
King and queen to me,
their slave,
I would give all to be ordered,
Let me serve,
Allow me to lay
as your dinner,
Give me nourishment
as your supper,
Fill me by the light
of two fires.
S. Elizebeth Turnquist
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