It’s still April, right…? My brain has been out of its poetic meter center for so very long now; I have struggled for nearly a month to get something out for poetry month. This one stammered itself out over a period of days, which is unusual for me…
—
my body sings at your touch,
but words fail in my report.
my heart sits in my brain
captured, for my mouth will not function.
I want you inside of me, Sir,
so that you will always know my truth.
I understand how so many subtle pieces
fit in the greater dance of our exchange.
and my voice feels a choke,
a stumble, as it croaks a celebration.
and I pause.
I sit in silence and in that, fear grows;
a fear that is my undoing.
I fear not vulnerability nor availability nor transparency;
these things ease the tremor in my breath.
I fear my missteps not taken, mistakes not made,
my yet unspoken thoughts.
I catch myself and prior
to deprecation, I pause once more.
in this silence, your words
return to me and my fear is undone.
your mark settles once more upon me,
nestling into the hollow at my throat.
I have become safe under
your protection, Sir.
I am returned home,
anchored and secured.
gryphon's hole 