A Female;

A female’s love is only temporary. It is a matter or a trick of the mind, manipulating the senses to become inflamed an enthralled with a fleeting satisfaction… I? could never be what you want? I could never?
Solidly become
Something
You kept or coveted.
You drew me in time and time again, drew me in with lines thin and thick, sketched my ailing posture and creases between my brows. You drew me so imperfectly. Was I not, was I never, beautiful to you?
I knew, as your love was transitory, that you were likely disgusted by such flaws and could no longer overlook them, and I witnessed defect in crumbled charcoal, pasted and framed.
As a female, your drawings and conclusions were incorrect.
A moment of contemplation would tell you that a female could never expose herself to being so vulnerable; could never completely become susceptible to love for the sake of defense.
Never take it personally.

I knew you had to be different. Wasn’t this love? Weren’t those evenings, sheets twisted into coils and
constraints, hands tangled in locks of tousled hair and your groans in my ear, filled with the utmost passion and love?
You were more than a female.
You were my love, and our breathing became a united stream, our bodies molding into one entity, entwined and enraptured. You were a beauty that I could never draft or outline, and I had no intention of arresting our unity, splitting atoms and fibers that would disconnect our ability to be whole with one another.
Splitting atoms took precision, and a genius.
Decimating love took a fucking idiot.

There are times when I forget that you’re married and I long for nothing more than to experience the absolute shock of voluntary infidelity, the surprise of what it would feel like for you to want a female’s mouth hungering for and gratifying the crevices of your neck, your eager mouth starving for my tongue and your body rigid from a self induced daze. This could happen, if you wanted it to, but you didn’t, and I knew you didn’t, so I didn’t, so it was passive and we were friends.
Though, those days when you told me to come close and ran your hands through my hair when I was resting on your couch, I saw your nipples pressed hard against your shirt, their contour lush and inviting. I could feel my throat tightening, senses igniting diabolically, but glanced away and disregarded the urge swelling within my chest
You were just a female. A married one.

Though, you fill every void I dream possible. This isn’t a love disguised as self gratification, an urgency to fulfill whatever selfish desires I possess as a human being, a female; this is the truest compassion derived at such a young age. It was absolute and such an overpowering condition, and I cherished you. Everything that once plagued me had become nullified. This spawned the beauty and creativity of my image, though my body as a creation was deteriorating more than it was lingering and something was splitting my soul and my body apart into two different entities, both bound to each other but one not able to exist without the other. Wasn’t I become a mess as time went on?
Didn’t you want more than anything
To mop me up and wring me out
And rid yourself of this catastrophe?
You loved me when it was never necessary.

..You will know me
By the trail of my dead,
Unstrung, hung,
creator hunting
created.
the creation
creates the creator and
the dead arise with
conviction for
you, my beloved,
for you and
your love; deceased, dismembered.
This disease is insolvent.
I
cannot
love
forevermore
when no entity
can fathom
a love so
insoluble;
as a universe extends corners and pages
my love
transcends
make and model.