I don’t need
your hands,
when it’s words
that make me feel.
You say we
instead of you,
and I’m set to dreaming
of dreaming
under desert stars —
the courting
of the highway.

I don’t need
your arms,
when it’s eyes
that make me see —
clear and heated
as a sunlit
high-summer sky.
And I’ll bet
that you could tell me
all about the song
that goes with that.
And you know
it makes me high.

And I don’t need
your mouth,
when it’s your voice
that makes me quake.
Some days I laugh it off —
an accident, I say,
but I don’t know
how to answer.
And I can’t promise
to refuse.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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