It's not you. And I mean it.

My body cringes

When your fingers touch my arm,

When you run them along the length,

When you kiss my fingers

And bite them too.

You pull me close, whisper in my ears

There’s no other place I’d rather be

You look into my eyes,

Let us dance to the melody of Himeros

With every kiss, my lips smile

When you reach my neck,

My arms follow

Your touch is sweet,

And you caress my waist

A kiss on the neck,

Chin. Cheek. Nose. Lips. Tongue.

Legs around your waist, my hands find support around your neck

Head rests on the shoulder while you touch every part of me.

My lust consumes me,

Probably more than it should.

But how do I tell you,

That it's not you

Whose touch I crave.

Could She?

The world is discussing violence

It’s discussing nudity

It is also discussing obscenity, porn, women, and feminism

What it’s not discussing is how a woman feels about being discussed

Individuality is lost

In the mid of all the angst

Too many issues at hand

Too many people to discuss with

She sits in the corner and mourns

Her innocence shattered

Her patience tested

Her body conferred

Her opinions ignored

She sits in the corner and contemplates

Should she fight?

Should she let go?

Should she raise the voice?

Or all her thoughts she should forgo?

Question is,

Could she?