He rests his feet in shallow-watered shores of my world…no desire for the fire in my eyes. He’s after that false “I’ve conquered” sensation. He is a womanizer, rake, wanna-be-lover who takes the initial chase for the depth he truly deserves. Damn shame.
He cares not for what builds my soul, what rough winds have pulled and shaped the mystery that attracts him. He won’t use the gift of our time together to question my spirit, gather wisdom, and tactfully use it to secure the bond he’d like to enjoy. And so I choose to share the outer courts, a slice from the shell of my being… a fraction of my carnal self.
With a sense of entitlement, he explores… assuming his powers have manipulated and seduced me into getting “caught”. Not enough time in a day to prove him otherwise. I let him play with my hair; bite my neck; relish inside of me for a spell. He releases tensions born from some other self- defeating sphere in time. I see sheer pleasure and happiness in his eyes.
I watch as his broken soul reshapes this pleasure into mortification, guilt, uncertainty, fear, dominance, control, resentment. I remain silent. With an awkward kiss, he leaves a chamber of his heart in my hands.
Every so often I carry it to the water and refresh it with prayer.
I am a Temple Priestess.
©Copyright 2012 by InnaRae