The night you turn her into a woman, you do not know how risky it is to manage womanhood. You kiss her amid the constant feel of pride in you: you defile her. You are happy because of this rare privilege. You boast of getting unhurt if someone rides a horse in your heart. II Tonight you sit on a wooden bed. She is somewhere there, listening to a radio, shaking her head as she hears the slow music of love, soaking her body, her heart. Deep inside her there is a life crumbling: your inability to build the love she desires. He has changed. She says to her friends. III She will wait for you at the door. She will doze away, a small clock falling off her fingers. She will wait, eagerly, expecting you to mate her lips with kisses. She will dream, experiencing fantasy in the brief admiration you create. Tonight you sit on a wooden bed. She is somewhere there, listening to a radio, shaking her head as she hears the slow music of love, soaking her body, her heart. Deep inside her there is a life crumbling: your inability to build the love she desires. ...
Posted on: Sat, 26 Jul 2014 20:27:56 +0000