Old love letters

Old love letters,
the parchment past of my heart,
Shall I file them alphabetically, or
fold them along the creases of time?
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust they say,
If I burn those pages, will the feelings finally
fade away?

I push you to the back of my mind,
and you clutter my brain with memories,
stomping around sprinkling anguish and
desire like candy thrown to children at a parade.

"I wish yu'd just leave me alone," I mutter.
But I scramble to scoop up each bit
thrown my way and I cherish each
kindness, smile and flirtatious gesture
as fodder for my time capsule of "what ifs."

In turn I try to tempt and tease
and touch wherever I can.
I know you're not immune or else you'd
have said never, instead of not now.
Yet the strength of those convictions
which I support, also don't surprise me.
For wouldn't I expect the same if you were mine?

The hurt and resentment of rejection have
faded from so long ago.
In their place grow tenderness
and a sort of hopeless yearning.

I should deny myself the pleasure
of seeing you, touching you.
But, I hunger like a starving tigress
and I wish I could take you down like my prey.

With just one meal, I could sit back
satiated, satisfied, and supremely certain
that my hunger was assuaged.
Just one night is all I'd ask and
then I would spend the hours til' dawn
purring quietly, stroking my fur clean, and
lapping you up like a bowl of fresh cream
with my little sandpaper tongue.

Instead I'm forced to pace
at the back of the pack,
hungry and hurting and hoping you'll
fall like an injured gazelle so I can pounce
in your weakened state.