The Reed For a Lonely Sax

Sitting by a bookshelf covered with thick dust I shower my eyes with other hands words written in this book's chafed skin. Skin that my hands have the only feel of others thoughts cause actual immobile flesh with a mouth to speak has never given me an appetite to stay and chew on chats My life since young has been me alone as I grow and others watch and worst of yet to be born a man for my hunger for the other sex is more harsh to my gender...I think just like a statue that stays in watch but luckily for me I have mobility So my capabilities to fill my mind with sights and sounds could only last so long with an individual that has not touched touched that is some others flesh Flesh that wasn't an accidental knock by a pass by in a walk a simple blood warmth nudge to be allowed to go in the hallway but...it's my own fault... I stray from the huddles, groups, and masses I wither of the thought of a question being asked in my direction failure will be given to myself if I have not a answer but o.... how I like to watch the happiness that could bud not from a flower May it seem to me that I am ignorant but surely I have not received the bliss for all my wisdom was traded for a sense it seems I may not receive A hand that could feel harsh and scuffed unlike that in which is read in books of first love but a hand none the less that doesn't mind holding mine but it's a hard job for me to free amongst others and I must put some work into it so I could better my chances my chances of the women that I see in the this store everyday grabbing the same author different story, but all the same theme romance...something that she wants so she reads I could be her romance... If I only knew the reed...