how delicate the way your slender fingers move.
i have always admired every bit of movement of yours.
such choreographed masterpiece of dance,
like a waltz at a late night ball or fine ballet.
you twirl around and glow like dancers in limelight.
you don’t like limelight—
anxiety has both its hands wrapped around your thin neck and presses thumbs on your throat,
close enough to choke.
are you not afraid? i suppose not.
or you are simply ambivalent.
such delicate creature you are.
you do not fear anything yet you’re so porcelain.
who are you to possess my heart?
the devil, you resemble me of.
you knocked on my door and i heard howls,
night creatures crawling and snarling.
the devil is not a monster, inventor of demons and darkness, no.
the devil doesn’t have cloven hooves.
it’s a woman, epitome of beauty, perfection, in front of two very eyes,
and ready to hand over your heart’s desires in whispers.
“like a siren, beckoning you to her ruinous shore.”
and i slither into your arms to joyfully give away all of me,
and we waltz together amongst heavy lightnings in a summer storm.
together, we are amunet and amun ra, unstoppable darkness and power.
you’re the siren sitting on sandy rocks,
and you are the devil cracking open the soil, rising from beneath.
but you are god, in all if its forms—
perfection and grace.