not about the color of his eyes
The weight of his stare
pushed her back
pressing her will
against the sheets
her eyes
crushed close
an attempt to obliterate the heat

She wrote not about his lips
The way they pretended
to hold some shy secret
brushing temptation
pulling back
evoking her appetite
till she believed
starvation
would eat her alive

She wrote not about the battles  
repeated
with wet skin
fire
fingers clasped and
limbs entwined
Their warrior cries and
hushed urgings
the inevitability of
death
a quiet relief
that held only
until war
was incited once more

What she did write
the sadness
the annilhation of reason
that completely
devoured
her head
How unreasonably her ego
stood down
refusing to protect her
leaving her
banished
to the emotional
unable to talk herself out of his charms

I suppose this is the reason
she didn't want to write