I don’t have a title for it yet ..but its starts with
(Ambivalence; according to Pamela Wagner poetry once)
No,no,Do not touch me ,
I mean be careful ,
If I break into a hundred pieces,like a ming vase falling to a mantle,
It will be your fault……( Pamela Wagner)
But when he accosts me and touches ,I don’t resist ..
I mean there isn’t a no,not much to fear,except for the bruises from passion ..
But he’s willing ..my prince,
To take all culpability..
The sweet guilt of a mesmerized touch,
A message is sent to my nerves,
Then follows a revulsion from hormones.
A love mystique to incarnate.
Deep within me is a hope,
That will and way couples and rhymes .
Multiple blinks of hope I tell you.
Isn’t it love, a herb for all that ail?
I search for truth in his words, to obliterate all words spelled out by fear,.
The fear of being walked on,
Bruised, or even flushed before dawn ..
They got expertise.
He doesn’t ..He is clean ..
Not so pious a Messiah ..
But clean..I see it.
His soul sparkling..
“Go on sweetheart.. ”
My one fallen angel whispers..
Sandwiched in between Moses and Abraham ..
Oh Dio! She affirmed..
So I nod, genuinely .
( Wachira Flor)