by Joel Groomer

All I've ever wanted

was to bathe in the warmth of your embraces—

to drown myself in your kisses.

I've wanted your strength (your body) to overpower me—

your scent to engulf me (my thoughts).

Your beauty eats me alive.

But as I say

It

you turn me away.

Rejection haunts me

and embarrassment follows (closely behind).

I regret speaking up in the first place.

Tears flow like blood (from an open wound),

the purplish color between the red of lust and the deep blue of love.

But as I share

it

I seem not to care.

All of that is so cliché,

disgustingly maudlin,

and washed down (by Prozac).

I unwillingly (or unknowingly?) secrete emotions.

Is happiness worth giving up sadness?

Anything else I can get for you, sir?