Move

Even the hate you spit, won’t strip these naked walls of love.

You want me to feel helpless, unearthed, exposed. Curl like budding leaves in frost. Cower,  cold biting tongue dispossessing the green, the life. I will not wilt for you. Sun. Life Giving. Warmth envelops me. Wrap these vines around your feet. Move you. I’ll move you.

~ by throatstuck on June 22, 2009.