Tormented 10/5/06
Come coarsely, my lover,
Tell me your need.
I’m a giver. I favor
your musk.
Take refuge in anger.
Fall sacredly in.
Come challenge my heart
yet again.
What perfume is it
that drips from your hands?
Don’t worry, I never will tell.
I’m a deaf-mute doe,
wide-eyed and leaping,
one gunshot away from
the end.
Come sit with me, lie with me.
Give me your word.
I sold all my quibbles
for love.
I wonder when you have gone
back to your self,
will I then be able
to live?
(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006
No comments:
Post a Comment