What we can't have

What is it that makes us want most what we can't have and not appreciate what we do have? It's a simple question, and it's an answer itself to many problems. But the answer is too complicated. In "Imp of the Perverse," Poe talks about the human instinct and desire to cause ourselves harm. Or maybe we just can't settle on something that it wasn't a challenge to achieve. I believe it to be the former.

These Sheets and Post Sex

We started the poetry unit in class last week, and yesterday we worked on list/mantra poems.

These Sheets
These sheets were tossed this way and that
These sheets were drenched with our sweat
These sheets were glazed with lube
These sheets were littered with latex tubes
These sheets were hiding the fur covered hand cuffs
These sheets were where I had enough
These sheets are now empty
But these sheets are no longer lonely


Post Sex
P.S. I lied when I said size doesn't matter
P.S. Your best friends was better
P.S. Magnums slide off of you
P.S. My orgasms were all fake
P.S. Your "foreplay" was fake too
P.S. I lied when I said I like your family
P.S. I could never get into it with your mother's portrait eying me
P.S. I lied when I said "I Do"
P.S. I'm taking the kids and the car
P.S. The heater's broken