The Wholesome Satyr

you are not here......

.....and there seems to be no way to reach out and tug your form with approbation and insight, to guide you here, sit you down, gaze into this icon you choose to dress yourself in, to undress it layer by layer and in doing so unveil my inner ugliness, my vulgar being to you.

to entice you to stay, to engross you in laughter and gaiety, to keep you here till you tire of this or till i expend all sentient energy, maw off the ectoplasmic crackle that emboldens and empowers us.

words do not turn you on, at least mine fail to. you do not wish to expostulate on what does stimulate you, zap and zing through that mind, charm and cuddle your body, soothe in sibilant susurration a sensitive soul. i ramble when i am with you, my philosophies and ruminations are pretentious expressions of regurgitated thought. my body? oh well........

and all i have till this halting enervation of events we call life, watches with trepidation the grey-glow against your name, offering hosannas that it lights up in verdant joy, are two threads of sustenance which i know i will read and interpret and re-read again. should i wait longer or will good sense bid me leave?

you are not here - and there seems to be no catechism that can wield wisdom enough to make this night pass faster; tomorrow to hurry by.

you are not here - and that is all that matters.