Wednesday, March 19, 2014

He, Me

I drift
asleep to the sound
of his snores, cradling
my soul in its nightly rest
in the sure knowledge
of his every breath

I dream of his eyes
when sad
for this reminds me that
we had once lost
each other
to the vagaries of time, and to be
that we now walk in tandem

He reaches into me
And draws into the open
things I would rather leave
And soothes away the hurt
with balm from the warmth
of his skin

He has marked me
as his
Within and underneath, where
searching eyes will never see
its light
And in allowing it, I have
claimed him as mine

This struggle
is sacred, and not for
or control
but for surrender, for conquest;
power of a different sort
It is a little death, repeated
a thousand times
I triumph, and he
ensnares my Self, and
neither of us
is the same, afterward

I am the altar
He the sacrifice
This dagger plunged
deep between us
Our sweat and tears
The blood that spills

I surrendered to his
mastery, and in doing so
have gained possession
of the world he thought was his.