Pinch eyes with thumb and forefinger,
Sitting here and waiting.
Awaiting work that doesn't come,
Awaiting changes of mood.
Over streets, through neighborhoods, through towns, through woods, across fields.
Into the sea.
Alone with my self.
Awaiting the passing of THIS.
Awaiting THAT day when I don't think about her lips,
Red Hot Tamale red.
Sweet and hot and soft and wet.
How I wish this was just another journal entry.
Just a fantasy,
if her lips were not meant to kiss.