he is mine.

All of him should belong to me;
And yet I have no claim on his body
Or his heart.
Whispers on his skin
I imagine they taste of salted caramel
And liquorice;
His hair smells of freshly ripened apples
Just ready to fall from the tree
And his lips seem stained with cherry blood.
His is the face I see in my dreams;
I call out in the night for him but to no avail.
I wish for him –
my arms remaining empty, my heart heavy, and my eyes wet –
I am vacant when not in his presence,
I am alone and surrounded.
The bed is cold on the side where he should lay
And yet it is the same as it has always been.
I shall never know his touch, his caress
Or his sweet lips.
Oh! Sweet fool, he is above me.
And I shall humbly serve at his feet.

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