Romance


When she visits, she
filters the mesh in my window
through her light, lazily caresses
my shoulder, leaving diamond
tattoos in my flesh to last until dawn breaks
her magic.

When he visits, impatiently pushing the
slats aside with a clatter, sometimes he
leaps through my window, plays with my hair,
gets bored, darts easily under my covers,
laughing sometimes, so I know he’s there, or
quietly, more often than not, so I feel
my thighs shiver when he plants his
feather light kisses  wherever he likes.

When she visits, I smell her
first, before she sweeps in
and drenches my desk with herself,
cascading without a care through my window,
she always, always leaves her scent behind
in all my secret drawers, diaries,
the room always smells like her the whole day
after and anyway
I wouldn’t have her any other way.

But I wait, most of all, for him
to come, every day, the way he paints my body
with his hands, turns my cheeks into rose
gold wishes. His sometimes too  warm
embrace reaches through my window,
and he climbs in slowly, always so slowly,
an always shining brightly
knight , after every night passes,
the only one I can depend on to
beam at me every day.

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