Most of the time his?
Enslaved by a desire he can’t reach
Imprisoned by her fears.
Afraid of letting it all go.
Overwhelmed, he walks through the door,
with preying eyes around the room
and then his eyes find her.
like an unmoveable bed
he falls in like its routine
no explanations, no talk, no life.
sometimes she thinks she forgot how to love
her life stopped each time he walked right in
He is a coward, she thought.
Afraid to accept she has a world behind those sheets.
Helpless to let herself step out.
Can’t even give up herself when she has to
but yes,sometimes his
Most times not. is all it will ever be?
His comfort is in turning tables
just to elevate his ego
and on her knees she bores to command.
No, she was convinced she liked it,
decieved she hadn’t lost herself
but all she had left was her emptiness,
maybe she had forgoten to live without him,
yet she was only his for a while
an option never a choice
with a stranger she thought she knew.
Many times she felt soft
like butter under the sun,
she let herself melt andflow down the slab like
a yellow rivulet towards him
hoping he would catch every trickle of affection
when he offered his world she embraced it
but she prefered her own