Adore her as you would a limb.
Its soreness not for you
but what she does
and will do again.

Nurture her when untaught
taut with worry her brow
its knot, loosening to
your caress.

Her neck, swan upward
throat bared to your
possessing palm
finger tips lining its
length, molding.

These things are not for you.

Though they are for her,
so adore her, whether
in bent knee or her
curls ****** and
a hand fitted
to the place you claim in her.

These things are not for you.

However fitful
a slathering tongue
teeth and dull nails
may come to be
she is not for you
but she is yours.

These things are not for you.

But she is not yours
in sense
of straight backed self
strong brows and last names.

Only she may decide to be given.

And she gave herself to you,
so adore her as you would a limb
not a growth.
Or by Siamese conjunction
or twin soul mimicry,
but in function.

For you mesh
in tandem clockwork
if you choose to,
and the sense of you
is not you two,
you too,
or even an us.

Memory motion,
endorphins,
red light,
yellow light,
green, nothing.

It is.