Aching With Restraint
I am aching to find my way into you.
I am vascilating with acceptance of your restraint.
Where is the door?
Why do I crave to find it, touch it, open it...
Why is it obscured?
I imagine it to be sealed.
I think it must be very, very heavy, perhaps steel?
Why am I standing, always,
on the outside?
Why do I wait
to be invited?
What if you long to have me barrel-through?
I don't know how.
I want it to be mutually
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