Poetry DTR

She.
She is a tease,
She turns on her heels,
When I’m down on my knees.
She doesn’t aim to please.
She just is.

She, is the ornament,
My infernal tournament
An aching torment.

She…

Is a breeze, through the trees,
Coconut and Neem painted leaves,
Jacaranda,
Buganvillia,
Cheeky dreams.

She. Is a dream that
I call into being.
She is a greed I will
Agree to beyond the need
For meaning.

She makes me leave the house
Forces me to get dressed up.
She makes me wear my soul on my sleeve.
Makes me cover the tab.

She beats me down.
Till I swallow my pride.
She strips me, of my pretense,
Lays me bare on my bed,
heart throbbing and legs spread.

She heals me…

I, will walk to the ends of the earth for her.
I will kneel on the floor,
Covered in battle scars.
I will water the lawn with my blood.
For her, I will fight.
Tip my pockets inside out.
I will brave my demons,
For her.

Sacrifice for her.
I will beg and borrow to provide for her.
I will leave home,
Not knowing how I’ll get back,
Take her to the many places she lives,
And make her know:
She is at home with me.
But, she stays when I have to go.
Later, without having to open the door,
I’ll find her spread
across my desk.
A creative mess.
Waiting for me, to address her.
Undress her,
Confess to her, that it is me
That can not ever leave her.

She likes the camera,
Loves the pen, the paper.
She knows that she is a star
and I am nothing without her.
I faulter.
She doesn’t seem to want to have my daughter.
She would rather she, were my only child.
My only smile.
Or else, she would want to split the bill sometimes.

I, will not commit to her.
I’m not sure she commits to me.
I just, cant help conceding to her
predetermined victory.

We will be, for as long
As we can be.
I can’t remember much before we, were we.
I love her,
Maybe more than she loves me.
Perhaps.
I adore her.
I lay all at her feet.
She is sweet, not like a baby, like sugar.

Last night, she blew my world off it’s feet.
She flew in, and magic carpet, carried me.
To a place where I could speak from my truth,
To a multitude, who told me that they heard me,
In their different languages.

And my goddess resumes her throne,
Amongst the living
As a Queen.

I love you,
Poetry.

I hope one day,
I can ask you…

‘Will you, marry me?’