I am not your precious thing.
Your porcelain doll held high above a shelf out of touch for fear of falling.
I am not your frail, weak princess.
I will not break at the strength of your touch, so touch me.
Hold me, break me if you can.
Fill me up with your strength and I will match it with my own.
Take me, hard.
Till passion’s cup overflows mixing into something dangerous, something unexpected.
Be my match.