Woman.
Like an instrument.
Play her right
She is a melody to the ears.
Play her wrong
She is a nuisance to all.
And if you don’t know how to play her
Don’t bother keeping her.
A thing of beauty,
A joy for forever.
Untouched and unowned.
Unaffected and unmaligned.
Lump of flesh,
Adhered to fabric that connects
And disconnects
Not like the skin, yet second skin.
Lump of flesh,
It moves apparently
And sometimes forgets
Like a killing notion, it breathes.
Lump of flesh,
Leaping into a pool of love.
And like a cliffhanger orgasm
Left suspended and detached,
Between reality and the alternate
Felt inside.
Lump of flesh,
Oh enough with this!
It perceives its joints, juices,
Holes and moles- and realises
It’s a piece meant for pawn
On a dead man’s table.
I touch not, the skin of God.
Soul of the child my womb bore.
Eyes doorways to heaven,
Laughter orchestrating the universe.
Thoughts, hand in hand, ours,
The heart that learned music from mine.
A thousand times over let me be ill
And deprived.
A thousand times over let me fake a smile or
Take one.
To give you the hope,
To give you a home.
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