Offering herself
to the altar of his desire
is no sacrifice.

She might be disheveled
in morning's mussed hair,
sleepy in cottony innocence,
bed warm and pliant,

She might be sleek,
glittering with night eyes,
savvy and preternatural,
painted, fey, vamping.

She offers herself,
and the heart of her flower
flows. The gift of vulnerability

is trust, curling bouquets
of fingers, entwined tendrils,
limbs move, whisper.

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byAngeline© 9 comments/ 4948 views/ 1 favorites
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