I am going through withdrawals.
I crave my next sweet fix.
This chisel alludes to smooth skin,
But what composes me is solid.
I shake with the anticipation of an unknown blow.
My lips quiver now instead of my legs,
Awaiting your touch.
I cry out in agony instead of delight.
To you, they reach the same echo,
As long as there are no cracks in the details.
Assuming I am a masochist,
Leaving my body colored red,
Your signature covers intimate lines,
As I stand in a fountain, naked, on display.
No one dares touch a masterpiece,
Except for the artist himself.
YOU ARE READING
An Ode to Muses to Kleio
PoetryThis poetry collection explores love, lust, betrayal, and a dash of rage. Bonus points if you're a Greek mythology fan! Written from a female perspective, it goes through the motions of complicated relationships, cheating, longing, and moments of pa...
