I hear his hand on the latch, and rise from my chair
Watching the door open; he flashes bare
His strong teeth in a smile, and flashes his eyes
In a smile like triumph upon me; ...the broad
Blade of his glance that asks me to applaud
His coming... With his hand he turns my face to him
And caresses me with his fingers...
God, I am caught in a snare!
I know not what fine wire is round my throat;
I only know I let him finger there
My pulse of life, and let him nose like a stoat
Who sniffs with joy before he drinks the blood.
And down his mouth comes to my mouth, and down
His bright dark eyes come over me, like a hood
Upon my mind - his lips meet mine, and a flood
Of sweet fire sweeps across me, so I drown
Against him, die, and find death good.
No missed opportunity.
It was nice to know that I could take him apart and rename everything. And I had plenty of invitation to try.Honestly? It's about feeling alive and connected. Show me your rawness, your warts and all, show passion, show that I affect you, show that there is no 'later, for another time,' and I can't help but be drawn. Show me you in the moment.
I hate the masks people put on (and, not to toot my own horn *HONK! HONK!* but I'm pretty darn good at finding out when people are not being genuine).
If I can shake your sensibilities, if you let me shake your sensibilities (i.e., be affected), that's . And, trust.
I mean no harm for I will gladly return to you, what you have given me, in kind (maybe a different way, perhaps, which is *me*). So, without assuming there is 'time enough', do, be. I shall promise to do the same. As near always as I can get.
That's why I was his girl.