Harpooned to the encounter
She itched the laceration on one’s arm.
One began to weep; it began to bleed.
One was rather erratic, far from calm.
Please, darling, do not give her advice heed.
That wound is yet to heal; darling, one tried.
She poked at it, a pitchfork with a fire.
One bellowed, giving impetus; you cried.
One’s frustration, seamlessly, raised higher.
Her sardonic smile crept into one’s head,
The itch would not cease to relent; OW! Pain
remained with one whilst we lay in your bed.
One could not bear these relationship strains.
The comments of this merciless being,
you cannot… expect one to take.
They resonated; how was she seeing?
We stood in peril, for these legs may break.
Her opinion, devoid of all wisdom,
one knows she did not know about the wound.
Darling, it is ok, one is not angry.
Inside, one hundred, I had been lampooned
One remains harpooned to the encounter,
thus, the wound is perpetually poked.
You see, darling, one could not surmount, her…
words, our separation… one choked.
My breath restored; you removed her pebbles.
Your arms, marking out my circumference,
no longer did one look so dishevelled.
Your benevolence, one always reverenced…
Oh God… one hopes we remain together!
Despite thy malign actions; thunder… rain…
one takes little notice of this weather.
Darling… one loves you; do thee feel the same?
