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Rated: 13+ · Prose · Emotional · #2286789
Be truly one with me.
Trouble Me


By


Ophelia Mae Hancock


December 14, 2022


Does the serpent strangle or does it hold dear?

Dedicated to My Wild One




My mind entertains a circutious pattern
A circular route
The ins, the outs
It dreams of a figure eight

My skates cut through the ice
Or, does the ice encompass my steely blades
No matter, for we still meet

Sunrise to sunset
Give us this day
Oh blessed day

I cannot complete this circle under my own devices
I am a key that can use a bit of turning

Turn me, twist me, bend me, mold me into a better form
Make me beautiful

Tickle me with your brush of crimson
Soothe me with your blessing of violet
Highlight me with a touch of sterling
Then growl and bring it all to life

Polish me, for I am a diamond in the rough
A diamond that wants to glow for you
Only you

The soapstone glides along my rough edges
Such rough edges that crave to be softened
Yet growing pains

So practice makes perfect
Here we go round the mulberry bush

The maypole
Lovely ladies all in a row

There is no beginning, there is no end
Just a reinvestment of energies

The ugly duckling becomes the beautiful swan

Oh what a web we weave
Eight limbs upon eight limbs still yet do not compare
Exponential

I imagine myself with great sinews surrounding me
They tether me, yet they comfort me

They assure me, Little One, I am in control
I will foster you
I will guide you
I will free you
Just let me entwine...

You do not need to run
You do not need to hide
You merely need to extend yourself
And let me blend
Let me trap you in the most rapturous of ways

Happiness in slavery
Moth to the flame
The bruised peach the sweetest

Let us dance a delicious dance
An affectionate tornado
A gourmet symphony of the scalding fluid of life
And the fortitude of energies in a tango
My, how the strands of wheat dance when bathed and ignited
Baptism

Is a knot a problem, or a solution
A tree's wandering roots are not haphazard
They seek growth, and they must twist and bend to reach it
They must meandor into the soil to achieve such

Tie the ribbon upon the gift
In the most loving of ways
It's the thought that counts

Tie the yellow ribbon round the old oak tree

Just so I know

© Copyright 2022 Ophelia Mae Hancock (ohancock at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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