|
I can lift an entire universe and place it upon my
shoulders.
Chew incessantly without disintegrating my molars.
My skin is not silken, it is really rather coarse.
And my hair could only be compared to that of a sprinting horse.
... Do you love me still?
The curves on my body are uncivilized, not fastened tight to
the bone.
If I were to wrap my lips around yours, you'd savor a stream
of liquefied chrome.
These spider leg-embroidered orbs are not glossy or brass;
They are dull and must be aided with border-encrusted glass.
... Do you love me still?
My hands are not soft, they are tired and bare.
Nonetheless, they'd like to scamper across your wavy hair.
My thighs have not been broken into, they remain raw;
I could probably not bend this vessel into intricate positions, nor abide to modern sexual law.
... But, do you think you could love me still?
I love you for who
you are, not what you are.
Can you do the same for me?
Can you stop the trembling in my knees?
Come now. Say it. I want to hear it from thee.
Copyright 2008 Jutta Motrin
|