Mine is a body shaped for tender loving
languid in length, soft in composition.
It has never known hunger
nor the thirst of the desert.
The smooth skin of the palms attests
to a life of leisure.
This body is beauty.
The lips were made to kiss,
the eyes to gaze into.
The waist was shaped with the intention
that another’s arm would circle around it.
There is a hollow under the collarbone
shaped for a head to rest.
Mine is a mind that hovers
on a duality of independence and isolation.
It is an Artemisian wilderness
Moonlight on the dance of a single sorceress
bathed in virginal glory.
Mine is a mind of cathedral caverns
in which dwell, deep and still, silent lakes.
The longer I remain hidden from the sun,
The less I see color, the less I see light.
I scream out, but the reverberations that return
to me are further evidence
of how alone I am.
Fathom 