I’ve written books with my eyes.
In my tales, you run me.
I am your formata- share of source and being.
Springs of sadness reek panic when you leave my side.
Mountains crash, Pompeii burns anew.
It’s the neoslavery you inflict deep, within.
You’re a curse. My curse.
You suave, savage witch,
Your fingers dipping my entrails; laying my essence bare.
I hate how my mind adores your savagery.
How your smile becomes my drug,
I am addicted, to your words, your touch, your mind bogging aura.
Who are you?
Why are you?
What do you want with my heart?
Why did you choose me to lay me to waste away from your waist, after an ethereal…taste?
Conquered and alone, I long for a graceful whif of your presence.
An innocent “I love you” whispered in my mind, changed everything.
Subdued. Imbued. Amused…by your ease, a regal feast of tact.
You own me, my love.
And there is nothing I can do about it.