since you cannot take your hands
to the curve of my body
i am suddenly less appealing and
my mind is reeling because
i know it's not dramatic,
it's just true.
my heart is second string
your conquest is your drug, not me.
and i stand for more than
a simple chase and capture,
(preceeding silent exit out the door
without return)
i call your bluff. and you hate it.
the things that make the flower grow
without them, the flower would die.
it wouldn't exist.
your eye catches beautiful pinks and greens,
petals and leaves,
and you want to pluck it with your hands
dirt under nails
rough knuckles
calloused skin.
without so much as considering the earth,
seed,
water,
sun,
gentle care,
that makes it what it is.
