She/Her, Saviour \ The Lover Girl’s Lament

She/Her, Saviour

I think of what she’s said
and I smile to myself, fingers brushing my lips shyly.
Even in my private moments of naked joy,
I falter in allowing my own happiness,
questioning its deservingness,
and perching on the precipice of new fears,
created foolishly in my own madness,
made expertly from smoke and ash,
to divert myself yet again from the pure
enjoyment of enjoying another.

She is like the golden-haired angels in their stained glass windows,
with the mesmerizing eyes and wicked tongue of a devil.
A biblical juxtaposition, a breathing sin,
but breathe into me,
and fill my desperate lungs
enough to save me from the crushing weight
of their unwavering judgment.

If I have to be saved at all,
It will be her that does the saving.

The Lover Girl’s Lament

What I really want is to be loved,
But if I can’t have that
I’ll have your eyes holding mine for an outstretched moment
And my heart will stir and settle.

I’ll have the wondrous privilege of seeing you
Run your fingers over your parted lips
As you think of what to say to me,
And a secret, inner part of me
Will rejoice in the thrill of it.

I’ll have the lingering scent of your perfume
Make itself a home within the walls of my nose,
And I’ll never exhale if that keeps it there forever.

I’ll have that gentle laugh of yours awarded to me
For a joke I crafted just for you,
And I’ll press play a thousand times in my mind
Until it stutters and breaks.

I’ll have whatever you’re willing to give me,
Within these dying hours and this finite time,
And the part of me that yearns for love
Will cry out desperately for another scrap,
Though I’ll tape its mouth shut in punishment
And tell it to be thankful.