everything, everywhere, all the time for me, is a work in progress.

lips lick natural curling
and enjoy the soft unfurling
of a hip heavy heart giving way

messing and caressing
the limbs lovers undressing
then deeply punching pressing
away the grief grown gray

relief and tension mingle
tingle, and single out the sorrow
smothering with a luke-warm lay

believing and breathing
through truth's sieving and the leaving
so the solid sinks like sand
and hearts sail out onto the bay

a heartbeat of flutter
do we brave to even mutter
the most human of all our daring hope

that we rope and grope and tie
to the beds of all our lies
and chant and chant and chant
our loves free will did lead the way

hold and enfold a hopeless like dope
and rope nope
to the lovelingered night

bite at the plight
of throbbing delight
and wonder if you're ready to fight

because boys toy
do cloy and destroy
at your soul with testosterone might

the fright of your life
and the life of all fright
delivered with will and last right

the pleasure and treasure
you search through the ether
begging silent to hold and taste

won't stay and fulfil
but will sway and spill
through your fingers at record pace haste

the moment you smother
the lover with cover
of your social mask fabricate paste

run run they will
it's a pity still
such a love such a love
goes to waste.

coming to terms with singledom, is risky. risky because that's when boys enter the equation. they don't arrive when i would tear my hair out just to have someone hold me at night. they arrive when i have made plans alone, and when i don't want anyone else in my room, or freshly washed sheets.

but this is usually a resolve that arrives at the conclusion of someone. give me a couple of months and i might be humming, nay, chanting, a different tune.

which begs the question: is just having a man, any man, or unfortunately, boy, really the point?

the exact words came out of a friend's mouth the other day. "but at least you're having sex". really? really?! is that what it has come to? or cum to?...

sorry. couldn't help myself.

dating people we kind of like, but wouldn't rush home to meet mum, just for company?

but. seriously. the "atleast i'm having sex" tag feels like some kind of pseudo-liberated-i-just-watched-greer-on-youtube-while-txting-for-booty-at-11pm line. i for one know that when you watch a romantic comedy, and feel jealous of the kiss scene because they have known each other for, like, atleast, like, two weeks, then there are some serious questions to be asking.

for me, they start with, how liberated are we, as females, really, if we aren't happier?

or maybe that's just me.