Sometimes I want a hand gripping my wrists as you penetrate my core with vicious thrusts, bared teeth, and filthy words.
To be ripped apart for your pleasure, which is also mine.
But there are times, too, when I want you to say I’m beautiful, even though I don’t believe it, but just to know that’s how you see me.
Sometimes I am strong and sturdy, able to take on all the darkness and crimson heat.
But then, I am also delicate, and my fragile petals tear easily.
In those times, I need to be cradled and loved gently; caressed and held close.
It is for you to figure out the puzzle of my heart.
I can’t always put into words when I am one or the other or some strange mixture of both.
I need you to do that sometimes.
I need you to want to.
I need to be that precious to you, as you are to me.
tara caribou | ©2020
Read this and more in my poetry book, Four.