google and poignancy

Who says urban middle class life lacks drama?
I switch on the laptop and open the browser.
Watch the little icon revolve in tune to
a sustained drumroll.

"The server is taking it's time", I am told.
"Do you wish to continue?" "Listen sweetheart,
You have NO idea of what waiting means."
Yes, I continue.

I think I see a loved one, and sit up straight.
Slump again when I see it is the letter of a
nice gentleman wanting to give me money.
'Mark as spam, please."

Ah well, I will re-read mails sent earlier.
But now the name I am looking for is not
among my Quick Contacts. More resolute than
I can ever be,

Gmail has shunted out my errant lover.

to the Delectable Bastard

this is not what i want
am more lonely now
i need help here.
are you listening at all?

when we meet

I want to sit here beside you, my head resting on your shoulder, my palm on your chest.

I want a hundred quick, dry, hot kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, my arms.

I want to just quietly look at you, and do nothing at all.

I want to hold your face in my hands and kiss you gently, deeply, forever.

I want us to have urgent sex in a breathless tangle of arms and legs and torsos.

I want to make love to you as though we had all eternity together.

I want you to make love to me as though you were thirsting, too.

I want to open my eyes in the morning and see you smiling in your sleep

I want to hold you so close I cannot tell the difference between your heartbeat and mine.

I want to hold you like a child holds a slice of watermelon, bite into you and eat you.

I want to touch you as if you were a seedling unfolding itself into the sun.

bottomline..

The absolute least I owe myself is to be wretched with flair. I should be miserably wet and cold in a flooded jungle, lost and tormented in a mountain, or in the depths of despair over implementing participatory watershed management. If nothing else, I should take to poetry.
This waiting for a letter is a commonplace way of being miserable. not worthy of me.