Arete (arete) wrote,

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What do want of me, she asked
As if it was something he could put into words
Images crashed in his mind
A warrior queen with a flashing sword
Everything not needed for survival cut away
To make room for the hard edges shown
A mother wiping her hands on an apron
All soft and giving, thoughts centered
Around a home she felt no need to leave
A clerk writing numbers in a book
Hair swept up in a tight bun
A pair of glasses perched on her nose

Her eyes pierced through, staring
But he did not think she saw his soul
She looked too long, too hard at him
With nothing crossing her face
To show that she had seen anything of note
Whether good or ill, it was up to his words

Ring clenched in one hand
Fingers tight as his nerves
His emotions in a storm
He did not want the words to tumble
Like mischievous children caught up in play
But then again, there is no magic phrase
That unlocks the heart
No alacazam, no abracadabra, not even
Sindbad's open sesame works here
And neither does "I love you"
For too many have made that the epitome of love
And she would always be contrary
To what others think is the only path
Tags: poetry
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