For the lack of and for the need that is, I search.

For the lost and found, the seekers and sought after. The runners and the dancers. The strangers and the lurkers. The ones in the dark and the ones looking for it, just like me.

They’re out there, waiting and needing.

Tied and bound by their imaginations. Drowning in spit on or spit out day dreams. Swimming through their ground up thoughts and swallowed fantasies, just like me.

Touched alone or touched underwater they lay there beneath the dawn of the day drenched in dread. Gooey with good because they have to be but bathed in bad and wicked with want and craving all of it, just like me.

Smoothed out creases of desire licked clean like their wounds from the past as they fold their domestic moments away for the night. Actions speak louder than words and inside they are screaming but no one hears them, just like me.

Slide down the checkered worm hole of their sensations and hold on because it’s a bumpy ride. But that’s ok, they like it rough, just like me.

Just like me because they’ve had to be.

Shadows used like band aides for the candy cuts Daddy gave them. Classified by the obscure and obsessed outside by the backdoor is where you’ll find them. Shrouded by the strange and undercover like the others are they, just like me.

Strays and the unredeemed are the ones we like. The wayward and the nowhere to be found are the sexy ones that stick around in the corners of our minds. Don’t make trouble, but if you do, do it well and be remembered for it. Leave a lasting impression or at least one that can be hidden, hidden just like me.

We’ve adapted and balanced the act. Secrets dropped to the floor and nothing held back from the blind and the deaf to our worlds. Twisting and turning around with the light but it’s always all in when the dark shines on their lap. Sit down, straddle it, ride it, whatever it takes to feel it. To feel anything other than what’s happening. That’s how they like it. Just like that. Just like me.