Her weapons of war are so carnal. Her smile flashes like the shimmer of swords. Her shape reaches out like a spear. Her battle cry like the look in her eye dares to raise the dead in me. But the beast is slain each morning, nailed to the cross I bare on my way the grave. And I am satisfied in the rising tide of strength that comes from not being my own that fills the vast beaches of my weakness and washes away every trace of her haunting footprints in the sand.
not a poem, more of a observation and then meditation. It was the way this random girl looked at me that told me she was trouble. this was a stepping stone toward my decision for ****** abstinence till marriage.
