Forlorn
Leaning against the dresser,
neglected and forgotten;
my curves no longer alluring.
No arms reaching for me,
no fingers trembling to caress me.
Left alone, ignored, battered and bruised.
Craving contact – be it slow and gentle, or harsh and abrupt.
I can bring so much pleasure, yet stir so much pain.
And so, I remain silent,
in my dark, dusty corner,
yearning to weep.
