waiting for your good favour

My carefully coifted,
consciencely crafted thoughts
of your body and moments of you
pieces of our conversations enclose
around that little obsessive part of my being
that has heard your ideas.
Felt your thick strong hands
tasted your fingers
your vulnerability and your fear
even just a little bite of you - I am brooding -
without you I'm hesitating in thoughts,
stuttering around simple words
that have nothing to do with you
so I tell myself....I know now I am not
so much the portrait I would have liked to think true
the one I am in all the ideals
I like to keep unto myself fooled
every time I talk to you, look at you
faulted myself for falling out of self endorcement.....

why do I insist you in past my eyes?-
from behind my mind into the space
where lust and insight conspire
and align all their recourse into
pieces of lies I've idolized, encouraged
and inspite of my conscience I like those thoughts
I insist on those idealistic sentimental boughts
I'm in drought of your sincere sexual compatibility