We're both at our wits end &
marvel at your marvelous
& ease about my walls
which have only been conquered by
permission 5 years ago.
Who do you think yourself,
unlocking a part of my soul;
that part, loved fiercely
but so lit afire under your icy blue gaze.
If it were up to me,
your gaze would do me no harm.
Your touch would incite and stop where it ends rather than,
traveling as ripples on my skin,
igniting warmth between my thighs.
If it were up to me,
the urge to bend the knee at your command would stop at one and
evoke no such memories of your hand on mine.
If it were up to me,
your control over my world would
melt away like the winter snow greeted by it's first sure days of summer.
But it's not.
And,
fight as I might,
your reign over the part of me
which you've awoken is
as real as the pain we feel in the other's absence.
She is mine.
But she is also yours.
And we must learn to share her.
Less she releases us both.
YOU ARE READING
22 & Learning Poetry Collection: Curiously Beautiful
PoetryBeing vulnerable is one of the scariest things any human being can do; to unfasten the armor reinforced by a lifetime of difficult lessons, strip down to nothing but the fine curves of one's existence, and bare the scars of the soul in the sincerity...
