Guilty Pleasure

Something I dug up recently. Written in 2009. Back then pleasure was regimented, and self-pleasuring filled with guilt.

Your face lingers,
clinging like the feeling
that I savour in your absence.

Inevitably,
tears flow out,
like the promise of love-
made and un-made,
over and over,
again and again.

What is this pain
that rushes in
along with pleasure
rendering it guilty?
The satisfaction never reached
without your face
in front of mine
or your fingers touching me.

The desire to be animal
lost
in the need for tenderness.

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28/05/09