Naked

She lets me see her
naked,

only sometimes.

I don’t mean you
to misunderstand me —
I have seen her

without her clothes.
I have seen her

without her paints,
without her artifice.

Truth, many have seen her
without these things;

she is a vain woman,
proud of her body,
proud of her grace,
proud of her spirit.

But I have seen her
naked,

once or twice,
wherein the layer of her
that is removed for me
is the last shroud against her
vulnerability,

and she is at last in only her
skin, without even
the pride that conceals her.

It is in these moments,
my love,
that I fear
for my own heart.

It is when she is
naked

that she is
most dangerous,

even as she believes —

perhaps because of her believing —

she has no weapon left
with which to cut me,

and yet
will leave me bleeding

from what depth of me
the blade of her

nakedness

can reach.

Advertisements

Talk back to me. Trust me; I'm listening.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s