a lot of my sloppy odes are directed towards her, the mystical she, the not so well disguised metaphor for love, for pain, the incarnation of ache, of unrequited need

she is the culmination of a life of bitter regrets, of poingant rememberance, of heady need and passionate lust

she has the face of every face i have ever kissed, every clavicle gently bitten, every nipple suckled, every spine slowly kissed from back of neck to

every massage lovingly given, every hickey branded onto soft supple skin, every pair of legs casually draped over my shoulder as my tongue darted in and out, traced lazy circles and unspoken words over that sweet pink button nestled under soft folds of flesh

every word like a razor, every gentle whispered lie, of promises of forever, or at least just one night

she is the sum of all my hopes and dreams, my wings of salvation, my eternal pit of damnation, my solace and comfort, the grains of sand whipping the flesh from by bare form

she is falsehood in the most sublime disguise, a storm off the coast filled with menace, she is beauty and divine, hateful and ferocious

she is the quickening of my pulse, the throb in my temple, the pent up frustration, and the sweetest release

she is every nerve ending sending chills, every exclamation of triumph, the reward at the end of a long day slaying dragons, she is the jaw snapping me in half

she is every song of purity, the falling leaves of the cherry blossom, the winter breeze bringing the first light snow

she is the buds on the tree as spring has finally sprung, the opening flower bud, the first rays of the sun

the biting wind that cuts through the layers, the sullen heat of midsummer, the desolation of fallen leaves and whithered stalks in the barren field

she is the goal, the final boss, the angel and the devil perched on hunched shoulders

the babbling brook, a river of lava torching the countryside, the green of the treeline, and the avalanche crushing all in her wake

she is everything, she is nothing, the last words uttered before sleep, the cramping muscle of over exertion

she is mother, she is lover, she is sinner and she is saint

a holy vessel to be anointed with perfumes, rubbed with oils until her perfect form is glistening

she is the executioner’s blade, the healing touch of salvation on a weary torn soul

she is kali, she is mary, she is aphrodite, she is nyx

she is mine alone, she is no one’s to own, she is the muse for every word, she is atropos cutting the threads of life

i am her’s

i am her plaything, her lump of unmolded clay, her antithesis, her shadow dancing in the flickering flame

she is master, i am slave, she is the sun and i am another object caught in her pull

i have failed her, i have saved her, been her hero and her fool

we dance in the moonlight as she whispers the words into my ear, and i tap them out for her, in code hoping she can hear

now she is real and i am fiction, she exists as i seem to fade away, stepped forth from the quill in my mind as i become another obstruction to be dodged, another falsehood to be denied

she is more than the sum of these ill phrased lines, everything i could have imagined and i give my whole being to her without asking for a thing in return

for she is love in a world of painful truth, and i am fully enamored against her better wishes, against my own will