My TJ

11 Feb 98

Touch me.
You touch me in this cell I am in
imprisoned by my own fear
of trust.
You set my soul free to hope 
once more
that love might be real
and not just some fantasy
conjured
to sell movies.
See me.  
You see this complex soul
entrapped in the web of my own desperation
to believe in
fairy tales,
and you cherish that.
You spot fire and passion
in words
that convey more than I would allow
anyone else,
and you respond.
Love me.
Though we will never touch
flesh to flesh
heat to heat
nor see the eyes that acknowledge 
and compliment and care,
love this person that loves 
your spirit
your mind
your soul.
Touch me,
phantom lover
with your furious words
and your aching ideals
until I am more than replete
with your thrusting thoughts.
Touch me.


© 1998, Tara Tambollio


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