Nay Sayer

So easily am I captivated
by your deep spring eyes
the laughter that sometimes
curls the tips of those lips
the sensitivity
that crinkles your brow

But I fear you –
dread these years
I so willingly give
will one day be cast
aside like yesterday’s
garbage –
I have not the strength
to believe your love
is real.

I dread the power
so willingly given
to your hands –
How do you respect
what is so easily given?
I am but a mouse
who creeps and crawls,
scurrying to meet
your simplest desire.

Yet, no matter
how much love
you may give
or I squander on you
there lurks a decrier
within, shouting down
each gentle touch,
disdaining your
vulnerabilities for
they may threaten my
securities –
demanding your perfection
yet waiting for
defection.

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