New Story (3/4)

I am possibly most driven by touch. I remember Twyla Tharp saying every day she has a drive towards warmth (in that horrible artist book). Every day she dances to warm herself.

It’s like that. On the train, I revel in my desire for writing. I bathe in it (it washes me). There is nothing I want more and it is sexual, it is erotic, it cannot be undone with orgasm. I am warm from want of writing. It sings through my pelvis. I want a baby to hold like I know my mom wanted me. 

She wanted me too long, until I couldn’t find my want. I’ve found it now. I want a suckle. To wipe a nose. I want a soft cheek. I want to write. I want to hold all fat books to my cheek & let them sing me soft pages.