I Do Not Yield
"This isn't you."
...isn't I, you say?
do you want me fallen on my knees
opium-dulled and gazing up at you
with no dart-prick'd eyes
yet a fire burning in my blood
say nothing -- I know the answer
(oh, but don't we both?)
you would never understand
you could never gentle that inferno!
you know not its name
I yield -- but not to you.
could you name all my secret desires?
all my dark night whispers and glass-spun needs?
bind fragile wrists behind my head, butterflied,
with locks of my own hair
coloured like bleeding garnets
own me and make me yours
linen skin and wide eyes
the child-girl curled at your feet--
all well and good.
for I am not yours, and never will be.
within my flames, the fragile blossom curls and dies
whenever you deign to touch me
to make me yours--
I will never be yours.
I belong to none.
Call me whore, slut, Lust incarnate
(maybe I am)
I care not.
my body is not your Bible, not your secret book
my soul is not bound to you with nails or promises
my heart and mind light years distant
even if you tore my blood from me,
I would not succumb to you
thus I am the mandrake and the valerian
the candle flame, the sunlight
lypiféra dictating each move--
but never anything for you.
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