her gag reflex

press lightly and the hammers crack. they slam down with a certainty that it's all they were ever meant to do. if i could only own that same certainty...to be absolutely sure of what i was made to be or do. my programming tells me to reproduce, but it's more than that...it has to be more. 

as my fingertips grace yours and trace the charcoal laid deeply within your fingernail beds, i wish as hard as i possibly can to be put to sleep. i'm dying to jump under the covers and be surrounded by that charcoal until it slides down my throat like a thick coat of oil. trickling down my weathered esophagus only to be rejected by a reflex. 

am i oil?

i've been rejected just as quickly as my acceptance was made public. some primitive reflex must have kicked in and sent me on my way. that reflex only makes my resolve stronger. it packs my suitcase for me. it sits on the old bag in an attempt to shut it while there are clearly too many items packed into one tight little area. it closes the latches...

your reflex makes me yearn for the east coast like i yearned for you. it makes me stretch my sorry arms out and clutch at nothing but air. some feeble attempt to hold on. 

the restless wind blows through my tired fingers creating some desperate melody.