Sweet Supple Innocence

The press of sinewy hips

Our flesh entangled before the gaze of silver plated St. Peter, the protector

I merged into you, no longer me simply an extension of you

You became my puppeteer

 I a paper doll in your hands

Beauty merely surface paint

 No emotion, no voice

A two dimensional character in your contrived world

Your words so smooth they dripped like silk into the ears of our observers

You the gardener of my mind sowing seeds of doubt

Cultivating my emotions with your words

Seething, somehow, with anger….and arousal

Our lips would crush the darkness

Clothing torn

My consciousness barricaded by the supernova of release

The pain of pleasure tattooed in scars across my back

Then you reveal yourself, vulnerable

Your uncertainty disguised by a veil of Americana

I saw the fissure in your psyche

I was your mirror, a reflection of your fears

Your fears like gasoline exploded the embers of my soul

We burned together in a cycle of pain and pleasure….for a while

Your fears grew too engrossing for us to wield

They wove a web around us

Suffocating us

Suffocating me

You cracked

Your words cut me like razor blades on my wrists

I was fettered to you, my puppeteer

But I needed my voice

I was done playing paper dolls

I broke my shackles

Leaving you with empty bottles of amphetamines

Pedaled by official pushers in bleached white coats

Leaving you with the memory of mutual bruises induced by fear filled nights

Fueled by liquor but ignited by painful pasts

Leaving you with the warm embers from our battles

The fire of pain and passion snuffed out by exhaustion

Leaving you with my voice returned