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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Romance/Love · #1853005
put your key into my lock and turn
I don't want the bells and whistles
I can make a home out of a hole
I can put a little washcloth on the nightstand
And it will make itself a whole
You also know the coldness
The trigger-fire stress
The power of the impact
Pulling at our flesh
We must be concrete, we must withstand the fall
We mus be chromed steel shining in the mirror on the walls
If your microphone is on and your throat is moist and clear
The fearless fear your voice carries,  goes into the atmosphere

I always bounce a little
Got a little wiggle
Your feet are dead-bolted to the ground
Each time you use those hands and take me
I want to scream out so very loud
I won't cling like flimsy sheets
Only when I need your heat
It's a cold place outside
My eyes scan every object and they get tired
Your eyes size up your surroundings and your neurons fire

So then we must be dancing
One hundred stories high
Looking at the lights that block the stars
Our bodies scraping at the sky
One high heel slips over and every moment I have ever lived
Flashes in my face
But then he grabs my arm so quickly
Brings me right back into place

All of the descriptions, the pictures at the store
Glossy movie faces, shiny to their core
Our eyes might be light-colored
But from we  cannot hide from our own dark
You're just as much the ashes
As I could ever be
Yet you're the one of the few men who proves
That I frighten easily
But the limpness in my muscles
That lets me fall down onto the floor
Sticking your key into my lock and opening a little door
I think you may just understand
In that way I feel best understood
And, oh, I want to understand you
The way few women have ever could.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1853005-Model-Prisoner