Spiritus est ‘Sprite’
Limerence is green
I still haven’t thrown out your bottle of 'Sprite’.
It was once to your lips, how could I?
It has been days since you touched it.
I see it in my peripherals as I’m sitting at my desk.
I can almost pretend you’re just right there,
in my boudoir fixing up your shot
or maybe drying out your locks.
Could this be my new madness?
O’ loathsome vulnerability!
My infantile feelings!
It took me two days to erase the stain’
the one you left with our morning coffee.
I inhaled deeply
as any huntress would;
of my pillow and my blankets
for the first few nights.
Only the scent of futility,
Yet still, I thought of you;
Of your perfect touch
and the pang of your retreat.
Thought’s of being.
Beings beneath blankets,
of that true nakedness.
The glorious possibilities
and mystical occurrences;
Upon one’s bed.
There was no trace of you;
No remnant whatsoever.
Why would there be?
Like a clean rig drawing up your dope;
I draw it up,
coerce it through a filter
the cotton- your rejection;
I draw up in thought,
the image of you,
those long dreadlocks
your curious tattoos,
and Gods be damned!
Your wolf eyes.
The idea of the ideal;
The pulse of you and in you;
Primal thrusts, deep, firm.
You are greeted with warmth and submission.
Here.
Inside.
me.
I sit now at my desk.
You are to my right;
in that green, plastic fixture.
Spiritus est ‘Sprite'.
How queer, how absurd it is;
This perspective is new to me,
to be the one that says come closer,
while you, my shadowed desire;
are the one to consistently pull away.
To exist as such a wild force and know my power well;
How have I become your foolish marionette?
O' Pray tell.
Till my malady has a remedy
I will dangle helplessly from my heart's strings.
Strung up by your detachment-
made hollow by your apathy-
collecting dust in shades of indifference.
—Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen
Written on January 13th, 2017; In quiet reflection as prose.
#cowardicequeen #limerence #longing #lovelorn #lust #theantsqueen #unrequitedlove
