There seems to be
something missing most days—
and I know
it isn’t Steven Pinker
who I’ve loved so completely
unrealistically these past few years—
but it feels like a similar void.
Like something could actually fill me
or complete me
if I could locate the vacancy—
but it won’t hold still long enough
for me to identify the need
or the solution.
So I return to my reliable
if not enthusiastic lover
for what amounts to necessity
if not love—
and we become to each other
the stepping stone – the wish
the body of someone else
we know will never
touch the vacancy we keep
for them—
and only for them.




DeMaris Gaunt



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