Expectation

The thought of him had been sitting in that smoky corner of the room in her mind For months. Framed in bad lighting and burlesque music. The thought of him had been beckoning. Furiously. Beckoning. She had also been waiting; to wrap her mind around him considering ways in which the idea of him could Slip inside her. And gentle though she wanted the thought of him to enter her, she’d let him linger there too long not to let her mind be thrust upon him. She’d been forging a coming together out of whispers and air. Out of imagined partitions and positions of flesh and long anticipated twitches of satisfaction. A forbidden patience that wept like a wound and wound tight around the thought; Of him waiting. In that corner. Waiting to be wanted. Wanting to be worn out. Wearing out her wisdom and resolve.