I don’t know much about warfare,
Save for the crusade waging within these breached
Walls of piqued complexion and daggers on my chest.
Beyond all gaping eyes and cheeks blushed with red.
The body they see, they think they know,
The naked form in all its mirage
Hair down, splayed in submission.
But what they think I lack is my arsenal.
What was once thought to be eternal,
Now wreaks havoc by inf lection of the internal.
Where life was once suckled from the source,
Now hinges on the fate of this matriarch;
She is cataclysm, born and bred.
Severed at the senses,
All that is innately feminine she may
begin to conceive.
Unbridled impetus, burgeoning
under the canvas of flesh
Transcending what lies limp
in the cornered gaze.
Wash out the silhouette, with those
tears she bled
Here
She commands this display,
the truth infiltrates
Cascading over delicate curves and
soft accomplices.
The front lines sweep,
the flanks secure,
Spilling blood, all notions are dead,
Do you dare, kiss these lips stained red?
and sleep.
▲