Thursday, 6 November 2014



Take me by the hand, and lead me amongst my scars:
touch every one
and it is reborn, a star at your fingertips, each fear,
all harm; nought but sweet air now,
in the safest of
arms, and feather-pillows,
deep, soul-cleansing
kiss –  and you can ask me never,
to live
without this, or the whispers
that all shimmer
and bend,
as it falls from your lips: “my twelve,
out of ten”,

and somewhere
inside me, spread wings, as doves soar,
behind all of the blinds,
and the skin,
and the tightly closed
door, on those predators, circling,
out there: because none of it matters with
your breath
on my hair,

and all of your fragrant
at my back – here, there is nothing I
could want for, or lack in the depths of my soul:
- no panic,
 - no holes,
can exist
when you say what you see:
strong, brave, beautiful me, no damage,
inside or out:
nobody’s prey, no doubt
I have grown

like a Guelder Rose,
covered in thorns
from my head to my toes, but
bearing more petals than you ever
might know without equal wounds from the spikes – and I beg you now please
 turn off the lights,
for you make me
 more woman
than I’ve ever been – and I want to remember
all I have seen, tonight,  
in the truth of your eyes,
neither one of us
with need for disguises, nor pantomime masks;

for here lies the sacred moment,
we both
were shelter

at last.

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