our strings

she says good night to me i become a marionette i follow her every gesture with a primal yet peaceful desire to meet her parents i must look very silly pining because all she does is smile her mouth crys volumes above and below hearing the woman's gift "Grab me, take me, love me, break me!" But she, and me, can't be, hasty our flirting must draw out like a blade to satisfy our morbid need for delaying pleasure i graze her thigh with my right hand the skin-tight denim sometimes feels better than that beneath her blue teenage cloak of innocence her knee tells mine that it is weak and that i must hold her like an infant and carry her across the threshold of absolutely beyond "kiss me, maybe" i lay her on a pillow and wonder how far can you throw a guitar if it is full of wishes played by frustrated fingers the same that now play a frustrated girl i pluck her strings like a mellow bass and her resonance could calm a wave and it did i will marry her 7 times if i have to to show her to show her Just to show her to all my fears and scare them away because i am solid and firm and me within her glowing like that candle we lit 8 hours ago piling a placid pool of wax on her desk it makes a river of hot pointlessness and drips to the floor and we do the same falling into a puddle of burning soft kisses