Some older poetry- Well oiled machine.

  Well oiled machine…

I love you like a stranger,
my lips touching your lips,
my body feeling the heat of your flesh.

As I hold you close,
I don’t feel the hunger to enter you.
I feel the desire to make you feel wanted.

I don’t know where my hunger had gone,
but the hunger of the fuck has faded away
many Winter’s evening,  so long ago.

You do not feel my desire
to make you feel safe and content.
Your hunger overtake me.
I act more like a well trained animal then lover,
trying to give you pleasure.

Your desire to be touched, used and abuse is stronger
then my desire for you to feel unwanted.

I touch you like a machine.
A well oil machine,
prepared to give you the proper and perfect
touch desired.

You do not realize.
I feel we skipped too much.
We moved too quickly,
for the hunger of the flesh
is more powerful than the gift of love and friendship.

We separate in the early morning.
Even you feel a weakness and a sadness,
for the satisfying of the body leave
the heart to mourn.

At least I will leave less hurt.
I saw the hunger in your eyes.