silence means you’re winning
i write to
stain the
inside of her
thighsand send devoted
ankles skywardin the hopes
that they’ll knock
loose treasure from
the cloudsi write to steal her
breath like the
fall of frigid water
cascading down
her backto raise the faint
hairs running over
her body, calls to
me in the softest
tones
Am I in love? — Yes, since I’m waiting.” The other never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game: whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely this: “I am the one who waits.
“
| — | Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse (via bookmania) |
