not really prompted
by much
but you
and your lovely hearts
that speak
to me as much
as my naked hips do
to you

not really following roads
lately
only photos of stones
near deep rivers
to dwell on past
lives

not really caring about
punctuation
or sexy panties
just hustling by
changing words
in my novel
that sound the same

not really loving
the same people
but always you
how you get inside
me and out
with your drawings
grand gestures

not really caring
what others think
delving deep into
my vulnerability
and sucking up
my ego
as I lay on my bed
naked
waiting
for you.

9 thoughts on “not really”

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