Beautiful

I have forgotten more and more each day Who it was I used to be. Struck by an end less bolt of lightning, I am struck by you, shocked into submission, I wish I could be clearer in my words, but I am broken with the words I want to say, and the words that I am allowed to say. The scratches let me know I am still a slave, the bites tell me I am yours, the kisses say I am not alone, and the way you hold me, let's me know I am free. I know this poem isn't made of lovely lyrics, or pretty words, the only thing I can say in so many words, is that you are the sleeping angel to my rising demon, the lioness of my pride, and I am blessed, loved, risen and trusted by you, Jocelyn.