He moves on all fours,
malevolence igniting fervour,
delicious in his maleness,
unrelenting in his pursuit.

He circles me,
bellowing his intent,
stomping out boundaries;
ominous warnings fired at other males.

He savours each battle,
bathes in their defeat,
worthy of each bloodied form;
deserving of the heart he already possesses. 

He captures the sweetness,
conquers with calloused fingers and tender persuasion,
whispering words, beautiful and rapturous.
Fracturing me to a kneel.

He makes me feel extraordinarily female,
delicate and tiny,
I hide among sinew, distended veins
and protective menace. 

He’s unfolding before me,
gentleness seeping from his soul, cleansing; atoning,
this is what makes him beautiful.
He’s vulnerable; like me, he’s caught by the heart.

He’s earned the right,
all rights.
Don’t go into battle, you WILL lose,
for we are armed….we are armed with love.

Touch Of Cinnamon

2 thoughts on “He….

    • Thank you, but it’s really lacking. I’ve got to keep reading your work, because it reflects how I feel. Everything touches me that you write. That’s the beauty of what you do. I need to learn that, if its possible to learn such a thing.


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