Surely

The stars are fading in the sky, when you awaken and reach for me.

As right as rain, I am not there. Was I ever?

You call for me. Not that it is really me you seek.

*

You fooled yourself into thinking I could solve the naked equations, square your bare rule, converge your series.

With the honesty you don’t possess, I will admit that anyone with XX chromosomes could. If she looks right, XXY would suffice or a deliciously deceptive TS, who smells like sugar and feels like silk.

Prowling about your room-shirtless-the thin cotton of your boxers barely containing your pulsing erection. The thin dew of night sweat still covering the fine hairs lining your spine.

Stand still in the quiet morning sun and admit that I/she/me/her/it/they/anyone can fulfill your need.

Whisper it to yourself. Then say it aloud.

Again. Again.

Until it manifests right before you.

Watch your world transform.

*

I never yours to have. I left you with a phantom.

Do you recall running your fingers through her, as I found meaning elsewhere?

For you never wanted me.

You just wanted.

And you hate me for knowing.

So you think

There you are, so fresh and sweet-faced.

But your  turgid and pulsating cock swings to painful attention when I pass.

It screams that you are a man, no matter the tender contours of your face. The crisp newness of your college degree hanging just slightly askew on your stark white bedroom wall. The new leather smell of your car; the gleam of your newly-minted money from your first real adult wages job.

Because you cannot understand that I do not possess the secrets of the universe between my legs, you sniff around my skirts like a rabid hyena in need of bloody meat.

Your eyes are on me-your sparrow. Mine are on…men who fill my dreams, as I do yours.

You think that because your piston fires rapidly, that your gun can pop off round after round, that your sac is smooth and tight as a drum, that you matter.

As you pull on your over-eager cock at night, wishing it was my lips wrapped around you, I am sleeping. Not dreaming of your body, but only of the silence so dark, it rivals a tomb.

When I awake, it is a man that causes me to smile.When I deign to spend my morning in such a fashion, that is.

Not you, you half-formed idealist.You do not darken the threshold of a spare thought.

All I have for you is orgasmic heartache, spasmodic pain. Tears mingled with shock that you were fooled.

Run. Run back into the woods, in the shelter of the quiet copse where you belong, close to your dam and sire.

For you are not old enough, strong enough, wise enough. You cannot spread me and ride me under I am in a panting lather.

You are not ready nor tall enough in your mind, to ride this ride.

Kiss my shadow as it floats over you in farewell, for my kindness.

I could have held your mind in my hands and cracked that tender egg open.

Carelessly letting the yolk spill between my fingers, distracted by other matters as I shake it from my slippery palms.

Ruins

Touch me.

Run your fingers up my things, my skirt giving way to your forearms. Your eyes slowly closing to half-mast, you lips dripping with honeyed flashes of your thoughts right up to this moment.

Slide a finger into me, as the voice tumbles from the radio, wrapping us in the ticker tape of things we need but cannot control. The percentage points,  fall of the index,  rise of the fund, the quarterly earnings.

I sigh as your fingers reach in further. You swap my tension for pleasure, betting on the future soon to be mature that I will melt, flow away. Profit from my give, not your take.

Differentiate my demand. Push me back, those slips of papers, coded with data that signals the rise and fall of society, spilling out of your briefcase on the carpeted floor.

Nonstop goes the voices, the dings and chirps, the exclamations from the voice , joined by others on the radio. Jumping accents, skipping time zones, they all speak of the same thing.

Make that thing, the chasing of that thing, your fulcrum. Lift me from here to there, right there, where nothing matters but the way I feel.

The way you cause me to feel.

Underlying all of this is the pressure that builds, to stokes you, propels you between my thighs and into the heart of me.  There is never a risk that you will not satisfy the obligation that you promised me the day we met.

Fuck me, here. Amidst the carnage, you extract the viable and precious metal. Trade what I need for what you want.

Condense the hours into rough minutes, as somewhere, a man rises with the flight of the sun, joining a flood of similar minds, to do battle with the monster that is never full.

Kick at the briefcase full of promises of dreams, let those wisps of what will be flutter away to what is.

What that is:you inside of me, plunging, extracting and filling, pushing for the final closing of your day.

Exchange the the heat for the coolness of release.

There, you fall and rest. Like the end of the day numbers.

The sounds of cars gliding past penetrate the smoked evening air, as your sweat, salty and tangy, provides a slick glaze along your spine.

Fingers brushing your ears, I softly sing your favorite song.

And the voices still run over and around us. Testament to the edifice that you never can avoid or truly scale.

Count them-those voices- like sheep my darling, as you surrender to your loss against the monster.

Yet you conquered me.

As always.