The Internal Saboteur

The Unattainable

I stand staring at your lips in your small room,

thirsty for the wetness of your mouth.

You’ve said No about four times,

even when I asked for your forehead.

We’ve been doing this for some time whenever I’m in Cape Town-going out for drinks, enjoying each other’s company,

me wanting more, you drawing lines not to be crossed.

You ask me why I keep staring at you. I have no words.

I feel filthy. Unwanted.

In the car, I want to snatch my heart out

and only put it back when it has stopped aching.

But I will see you again.

Regardless.

Musawenkosi Khanyile