The desk comes up to me and tells me
to stop writing on him he tells me
to stop FRAYING HIS EDGES that old
oak desk HE screams at me that I need
to get a f u c k i n g life.

so I travel far in search of myself

soft consciousness summoned
intently with the origins
of a delicious warming
icily reflected off the
morning crimson mountaintops
of Northern British Columbia.

I travel far in search of myself

"Fly far!" I told the rock as
my arm stretched back and
flung forward as I watched it
take flight across the sky into
the cool blue depths of that vast
and lonely lake that pools
and sits nestled amongst those
crimson mountaintops ---

my pillow is a poor substitute for the
warmth and comfort of your delicate arms

and so I travel far
just wishing I
could find a way

(c) May, 2000, Steven H. Lee

This poem is also posted in The Writer's Corner at Epinions.com, as well as on Literotica.com.