A bed made for one.
Twisted sheets under thighs.
Lost in a trance of a distant voice,
speaking softly
at first,
until the rough pleasure
creeps into your mind.
No hands smudging your lipstick,
but your own.
Moments couldn’t be more intense,
even if you allowed a chance
for another someone
to touch you.
Refused invitations.
Deleted messages.
Dates,
cancelled –
all, so you could get lost in the reality
you made for yourself.
Social isolation,
in order to fulfil needs of your body,
connecting across oceans
with another.
You.
– Chatty Owl –
CHATTYOWL 