She comes to me with broken dreams.

With tender care she’s gathered them,

In silent heaps of tear stained years.

Their ghostly essence catalogued.

In stinging memories unresolved.

Hungry for love she’s yet to know;

In form and shape of what appeals,

Her deepest longings gone unseen.

She’s waited restless all the while.

Thrusting and heaving and aching.

Arching, twisting, spasms, coupled.

Insensitive suitor’s delight.

Empty pleasures of flesh, not heart.

She bounds between titillations 

Long spans of ravenous yearning;

Fast vanishing nights of passion.

-Valery St. James