Desires of a Second Being



In the desolate wild west of youth

I tore at my chest to expose that need,

tried to open my heart to liquid-love

but vomited blandness upon you.


That state of longing need is passing

from my beaten breast into an aching past

to the realm of hysterical historical ken.

The present is clearer than

unfrosted glass ever can

before I see what my need is

and now I no longer need you.

I want you.

I want to see you in my arms

To touch you

To caress you

to kiss you and feel you close, warm

and tender.

I want to wake up in the morning

and find you there

next to me

to feel your skin, to taste you

to breathe you.

I want to see scattered unruly underwear

twisted on my bedroom floor

and know

they belong to you and hug you

as I can.

I want my wardrobe invaded

by your outer

second skin

hanging with mine, resting against yours

as we lie together.

I want to be by your side

in the darkness

and in the light

and know you are there with me.

I want to keep your smile and hold it close

to my heart

to my heart

I want all this and more, because…

I don’t need you.

I want you.


But do you want me?


Rochester, 2016


About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on
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