How am I to know
when it's okay to surrender?

My body begs me
for sweet relief,
to let my limbs, my digits,
all of my organs,
to let them go numb,
falling deep down
into a dark place
where I have vehemently
refused to
stumble
for many moons.

I keep my carcass
a hollowed shell,
swearing off any inclination
of relaxation,
of letting down my guard,
forbidding myself
to wander to the place
that frightens me most.

My beating chest,
it fights back
with fierce vigor
against my head's resounding no's
as your lips,
soft and succulent,
beseech my own,
our tongues
exchanging salutations
in a hushed, velvety
vernacular
that seems completely
of our own creation.

As my brain runs hurriedly
a million miles in a direction
somewhere southwest of here,
my figure melts,
      oozing
into your muscular hands
as they caress my face,
sweeping my hair
behind my ears.

Panic sets into my mind,
my breathing grows heavy,
but instead of bolting for
the door,
I draw your frame closer to mine,
wrestling a copacetic convulsion of angst and jitters
as your fingernails
gingerly
scrape
down
my
spine.