day 9: active are my fingers, faux my—
dirty are my dishes
many are my wishes
I'm no longer sick, but daybed is still relevant. There is a dull heat, pulling my attention away from everything. Drifting through the week, re-playing the eyes that meet and then flicker away. It means nothing substantial, but it does mean that I'm in the line of sight.
The words about denying our desires echo through my head. But don't you understand that it's the denial that makes it all the more pleasurable? Or maybe you know that all too well. I find your stoicism admirable, and yet I want to see you throw it all away.
I wonder what it would take to get you to a state of reckless abandon.
Too many fantasies bouncing around my head when I have dishes to do.