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A needs list (I've got a bit of a thing for list poems)


There is the need of real;
there is the need of
lips pressed
pressing.
The need of scent,

of lost and nothing else.
Forget the need of here,
of now. I love you,
but there is the need of softness,
of an honest moment.

What could
be more honest than a coffee shop
washroom,

a paper-towel lined counter?
I don’t care how that seems.
I’m leaky, I’m broken. I think
I’ve spilled myself all over the floor.