Thursday, September 27, 2012

a poem on being desired, being desirable

a poem on being desired, being desirable

Harold Crick: Miss Pascal, I've been odd, and I, I know I've been odd, and... I want you.
Ana Pascal: What?
Harold Crick: There, there are many reasons, there are so many influences in my life,

that are telling me, at times, quite literally, that I should come 
here and bring you these, but I'm doing this because I want you.
Ana Pascal: You want me?
Harold Crick: In no uncertain terms.
Harold Crick: Because I want you. 

somewhere else, at the same moments

your mind floods with her hands
and then her hands on you, all over

and though you and she are not near
you can smell her that is only only her

you can hear her voice clear as oxygen
it spreads her happiness throughout you

there—where ever she is that you are not—
she wants you wanting her to want you

being desired, being desirable
washes everything else away

because nothing else matters

being desired, being desirable
makes everything else matter

because desire is everything

the last thing he had of her
the very last thing he faced

was a weekend stolen together
when he desired her above all

and when he came against the worst
not being desired, not being desirable

and that was how nothing else mattered

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