If only

If words could shape and sculpt -

create the one I’d love -

I’d type all day...

(after day, after day)

until

one appeared,

out of the annals of my mind and heart,

a soul mate

of sorts.

Breathe life into him

with my pen

or typed lines...

rousing hips

digits

arms extended in embrace

a heart that beat for me alone

a waist that showed he cared enough to exercise

and could fill the nights with passion

yet a head designed for thinking that could rise above all else

and keep passions at bay, when need be.

And I’d circle his head with my hands, and run my fingers down his neck,

pausing to circle his areolas

and watch in anticipation to see if I had roused some longing,

out of pages of descriptions and praise for his beauty and his brains...

to see if his heart connected to what he saw before him:

a true heart, a passionate soul, a lonely soulmate, waiting to be

his friend, his partner, his one

and only.