A little dress dotted with light innocence

And morning lilies

Drapes down the shoulders of the child;

She is small.

She is young.

Her summer home invites Us with a Cheshire grin

And two hands

Traveling down My spine

In attempt to give Her young body desire

Give Her nothing but fearful uncertainty.

Fingertips graze where I do not know

And frighten Her.

And frighten Me.

It is normal to do this.

I cannot remember not doing this.

 

One day, he says, I will dance bare across a stage

And make money to fill the chimney

(Enough money to burn)

(Enough to warm yourself with, darling,)

(My sweet, untarnished daffodil.)

What is too mature for young hands

Can be shown with wrinkled experience.

He knows what I like,

Even if I am afraid

And cannot deny My uncovered, raw lust

And cannot yet unravel what I truly crave.

 

Take away my burdens

Take away my grief;

My thoughts of aggression;

My disdain;

 

To hell with you

For spoiling That Child;

For damning discovery;

For blessing My shackles with Unholy Water;

You do not deserve my thoughts

You take them anyway

Late at night

When I cannot sleep.