A Call to Action

Called to Action


This bed is dry as deserts,
And I am a slave held captive for contentment,
But if your limbs were trees,
I would climb like children do.
If your hands were the moon,
I would wish for fullness against me.
If this desire were real
I would yearn against bolts of lightening.
They would strike my heart
And heat me through
Like lovers quarreling in storms of hatred,
Only to sympathize with eager death,
Glistening in the enemies arms.

You must know this Ms. Tom,

I am no princess but a queen you see.
I am peasant and a diplomat,
A transient and debutante;
A creeper of the streets and an agoraphobe.
I am your whore,
An exquisite little tart;
And I am your adversary,
Your lover and your sin.
My flesh has bled for you in desperation,
I am the twinkle of Lilith’s eye
And my demons flow through you,
Like cells in blood.
I am the monster that will destroy you,
And the devil that will engulf you.
I am restless and unrelenting.
This is death and life and all in between.
I have dripped for you my blood and body,
all of me for bliss and foolish excitement.
We are the birds uncaged, free from ourselves.
This is always, you are never,
I am a genius and a filler of needs.
the butterfly kept under glass.
I am sex and the slow slide of a hand up your thigh
And I am the lips that lay eternal against ambivalence.
I have collected dust under this case
And I grow weary waiting for desire.
We have no more stolen kisses under a full breasted moon
And I this complacent queen, has sat dried long enough.
I am worthy of a great quenching, a waterfall of lust
A sea of desire to match the hurricane within.
This beast has become a puzzle
One I cannot begin to solve.
We are torn as if paper and neglected like dogs
I am a rose bed dying, please tend to my thorns.