Prides

I knew our days were numbered,
from the start:
Your soulful, aching gaze lingering;
Your life, your willful ways chaining;
You were a longing man amongst a pride of lions;
I am a free woman amidst a pride of artists.
And my ire was stirred, even then:
Your lasting, lustful gaze demanding that I sit,
My legs, my body openly on display;
My soul, my passion rippling ‘round that room.
And you were my match, yet bound comfortably;
And I was yours, yet bound uncomfortably.
You demanded that I sit,
That I watch you take me in,
That I know your every thought,
That I know you would not stir.
And I, so hungry for your touch,
And I, so thirsty for your voice,
And I, so angry for your will,
And I, so helplessly lost in you.

You do nothing that your mind demands of you.
You do nothing that your heart demands is true.
You do nothing that your will was meant to do.
You do nothing that a man is supposed to do.

And in that place, I am a prisoner.
And, in that place, I am bound to you.
And, in that place, I know everything there is to know about you.
And, in that place, I am utterly bound to you.

May I ask for what I want, from you?
May I ask for what I want most, for what is true?
May I ask that you are my friend, my lover, my dearest love?
May I ask for all that you know is true?

Come back to me, forever and a day,
And stay with me, forever through our life,
And linger with me, until infinity,
And forget me only long enough to gaze, bewildered, once again.

Come back, my love.
Come back and kiss my skin
In all the places I bid, unspoken;
Come back and find my heart unbroken, and yet bruised;
Come back, for you, for me.