by Victor Hugo Vasquez

Created on: November 28, 2011

You are the question,
A thought to be dispelled
But, I think of you often
And…I think of you well.

Like a heretic moth
Inflamed by your light,
I’m consumed by your scent.
I fly.

Akin to an obsessive
Who’s embraced all his senses,
I’m trapped by your essence.
I run.

I’m ensnared as I sit
By the tide that exists
In the curve of your hips.
I swim.

Among the debris
Of this life’s open sea,
On soft weathered beaches,
I crawl.

Searching for kisses,
For something delicious,
But fraught with bold wishes,
I live.

While I mourn my conviction
In this old, battered shell,
May I think of you often.
May I think of you well.

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