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Virtue Aug 2016
I meant it to be
A beautiful moment
Now punctuated
By wet apostrophes.
My possessive nature hangs on high
Claiming accountability
For the balance of these events.
The credit of her salted raindrops
Deposited in my heart’s ocean
Is a debit of worry
In our joint account of emotion.

But I know…
The morning was still
But my blood raced.
I placed kisses
On her window sills
As she opens the gates of her face.
To meet her gaze
For accepted entrance
To the garden of Eden.
Though her rivers were flowing
My ark was a rubber tree
So we forced the dam open
Which caused a flood of memories
To rush her veins.
She turned Eve recalling Adam’s selfish lust
In my eyes
And locked up.
Never expecting that I’d cause
The chains of her past to bind her so painfully
I stopped.

But I know…
How she blankets herself
In the wounds
He inflicted.
Like a burn victim
Feigning strength
When every move hurts.
I offered to be a brick house
Wherein she can be glass.
A fragile rainstorm
With cries of thunder.
Though she’s the one apologizing
I’m the one that feels at fault
As I wipe the tears that threaten to stain her pillow.
I wash the burning desire for her cavity
Out of my soul.
This sweet tooth
Has crumbled our rites of passion.
So in my love, I’ll abstain
From hurting her again
To soothe the pain
She holds firm in her brain.
A poem about an intimate encounter I experienced.

— The End —