You cultivated me to perfection
but the only sin was that you sought
something with no true agency,
for my own good, of course,
it wasn’t entirely your fault,
to graze against the almost violent
electric thrill of pure youth.
I understood this ache to be needed.
I was dressed in white when we met,
dark eyes glittering when I told you
I was once a dancer but the music
one day fled from my bones,
it scarred me where no one can see.
You nearly pulled away
but insisted on casting a light
on what you saw as a mystery,
as if a calling drew you to speak
and forever illuminate me.
You would unfold me soon enough
one night as the sea outside became
akin to us completely entwining,
lost waves succumbing in the dark
to beautiful and cruel gravity,
the only harbor found inside
the deep push and pull,
forever yearning for more.
You still do not see me.
But you understood this ache.
Your skin can be as sacred as mine
and I will not be denied.
And I’ll whisper and reach out
for you to love only me while knowing
that if I give my entire self
you may never give me yours.
But your only sin can be forgiven,
and it wasn’t entirely your fault,
you see agency differently than I do,
as something that always demands closure,
only for your own good, of course.
And even though the music
one day fled from my bones,
maybe you will hear the song
like the one so close to the sea,
to that which has so quietly pierced me.
You still have to go much deeper
to understand this ache.
That harbor must crush you,
cut with its immense darkness
in the same way your fingertips
seemed to sink beyond my scars.
That’s it, my love, go deeper.
Otherwise, you will never see me.
You will never know me.
Your skin is as sacred as mine now
and I will not be denied.
