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
    (running scarlet)

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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