Lust

They say I won't be able to handle this, 

I won't be able to accept you're gone,

I won't be able to detach.

I don't know how I might react when you leave.

For with us there are no promises or little whispers of love.

There are no gentle gazes or romantic dinners.

What there is, is a violent streak of passion.

A need to devour each other and be satisfied. 

When I am with you, when I lie next to you, exhausted yet satisfied,

I often wonder what this means? 

This relationship, what is it! 

I have no answer. I'm afraid to ask you, for I might lose you.

But when you nibble my lip or kiss my ear I feel so fulfilled.

Will I get attached? 

I don't know.

You refuse to talk.

You leave me with no other option but withdrawal owing to my proneness to be broken.

Direction

How must I tread these Pastures of life? 

If I were the wandering breeze,

Tamed only by my spirit,

If I were the rebellious stream,

Controlled only by my fancies,

How would I proceed?

Would I let trees and boulders curtail me once in a while? 

Or would I be careful around these?

Would I be impulsive or would I plan my journey? 

Would I ever slow down or change my course? 

The anticipation of the journey is more complex than the journey itself! 

But, then again, how would I tread these pastures of life?