He kissed me
with his words,
and I undressed
into a poem.
- © 2013 Maza-Dohta
Days go by that I sit in the shadows
I hear his footsteps as they pass
I feel his heartbeat grow more shallow
So easily he forgets the magic that exists
When his fingers touch my keys
The dance, he knows, he cannot resist
Sitting in silence, I await his touch
He enters so quietly
He runs his fingers down my spine
And so begins the ceremony
With each stroke he is written into my memory
Touching ever so fervently
My experience is much more than sensory
For him it’s nothing more than ritual
of my body.
In secret I undress
between the pages
of tonight and tomorrow,
touching words on my skin
where the moon
has traced her own death;
and where you
have written yourself
in tiny twinkling promises
that you never intended to keep."
I touch my lip, in remembrance
Of novels written on lover’s tongues
A silent man, with broken bones
Biting lips and undulating hips
You speak to me in silent calls
Of histories past and futures lost
And a fire that has been reduced to ash-Melanie Hamblin
A scorched heart, with a body rubbed raw.
You burn through her
of regaining your skin.
A patchwork protection you seek to create.
He was the type of man that was always looking for the dewy-eyed girl.
A searcher of the skipping steps, of an innocent heart.
He never heard your silent cries, because recognizing his wrong doings was something he never understood.
A lover of little hands within his pant pocket.
He was focused on the pleasure, devoid of morality.
A purveyor of treachery, with a no refund policy.
You feared his gaze like a lepers touch.
A faint hearted girl, you became.
You taught yourself that love was a lie.
A brave heart, in a torn nightgown.
You sought salvation in a broken woman’s arms.
An untrained warrior.
You learned to be your own heroine.
A fighter of a war not meant for you.
You held your own for far too long.
A patron of confusion, with a shattered view.
He was the type you guy that was always looking for the next transition.
A searcher of a pretty face, with a healing hand.
He never heard your pleas because his ears were filled with wide-eyed dreams.
A grandstander of the highest accord.
He used your heart to make himself a taller man.
A purveyor of broken promises, with a no refund policy.
You licked his wounds until your tongue rubbed raw.
A glutton for punishment.
You never learned what it meant to be loved.
A seeker of heartache.
You learned to love the hand that shoved you down.
An untrained seamstress.
You stitched your wounds with rusty needles.
A wearer of battle scars, reminiscent of a warrior.
You grasped the floor for salvation.
A patron of unanswered prayers, with a hopeful heart.
He was the type of guy that was always looking for the misplaced comma, before your sentence ever exited your lips.
A searcher of missteps, because appreciating the dance was something he has never understood.
He never heard what you said because his mind was set on dissembling.
A hypochondriac of emotional ties.
He was focused on the facade; vapid in character.
A purveyor of charm, with a no refund policy.
You touched his body like an answered prayer.
A beating heart reborn at noon.
You still haven’t learned what it means to be loved.
A faint hearted woman, with hopeful eyes.
You have become the angel who makes love to his body like a sin.
A dewy eyed romantic taking root in an empty man.
You have been a patron of empty lies, broken promises and heartbreak.
A lover looking for an open hand.
You choose the man that will lash your soul.
A patron of mistreatment, with a raw heart.
He will be the type of guy that is always looking for your hand.
A searcher of the treasures, concealed at the bottom of your heart.
He will hear your song and his heartbeat will serve as the melody.
A lover of tenderness.
He will kiss your forehead with salvation, for he knows you have fought too long.
A purveyor of unyielding love, with no need for a refund policy.
You will kiss his wounds with love and acceptance.
A healer at heart, renewed in his arms.
You will learn what it means to love and to be loved.
A fighter, who can put down her sword.
You will find in him, a hand that will never let go.
A fire of a love that will never die out.
You will know what “home” means by building your love, together.
A warm kindling will ignite at the connection of your palms.
You are the seeker of truth; there is no need to desire a lie.
A patron of reflection, with a new outlook.
The orchestra closes
The dancer kneels shedding a tear as the lights draw down
Personifying perfection, she retires to solitude
Unraveling herself has revealed her wounds
Baring her soul has taken its toll
Satin only hides blood stains for so long