Wednesday, August 29, 2007

17 and 39

"hello, my pet," he called from the far room.
her heart jumped to her throat.
he always surprised her like this.
she never knew when
he would show up at her door.

in his absence -- the long periods of time
he would just drop out of her existence --
days. weeks. months at a time ...
she grew languid. limp.
lifeless and cut-off. passive.
a tormented, hungry soul ...
aching ... aching.
and -- paralyzed of will
to extract herself nonetheless.

and so it went.
undulating -- passion, sorrow, shame.
oppressive: her longing for him.
it caught her --
the energy of their union.
forbidden union.
it caught her and ravaged her ...
the same way a leg hold trap
ravages a wolf's unsuspecting leg.
her young, tender soul
could not escape its grip.

at times, she felt as though
a faerie for his amusement --
he: a middle-aged, worn man,
suspending her in front of his gaze,
holding her daintily by the wings,
watching her writh, struggle
and then surrender sweetly - wilting
under the weight of his
desperate, empty lust ...
he loved to slowly crush her spirit ...
feel it disintegrate into his own.

she -- an enchanting, beguiling creature
a young, virginal female spirit
perched on a cusp that sits
like a delicate, stilettoed spire
between girlhood and womanhood

shame. and unrelenting sorrow
lurked there, like slivers, embedded
into the deepest corners of her heart
her shame - secret and dark -
melted into the soothing warmth
of his voice, and
the gentle strength
she felt in his fingertips

she-an innocent, unripened green shoot
with angular boyish curves
and a child's flat and meager bosom -
she loved him ...
loved him to the point
of pain

reality -- it showered her heart
like acid poured onto living flesh --
a reality that she and he
would have NO future
still ... her heart loved his
with a florid devotion
naive ... sublime ... divine
17 and 39


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