This Thing
I have this thing that I’ve discovered
It’s beautiful and soft
It moans and curls around me
It has curves and heavy plump flesh
It is light under my hands
It purrs when I touch it
My fingers running through folds
And strands of hair
What shall I call this thing?
This lovely, fierce
And gorgeous thing?
Those eyes?
Those lips?
Those soft, pink nipples
I love to trace?
How will this name describe
The luscious scent of this thing’s skin?
Or the velvety warmth
Of the wet folds
That pull on me
And draw me up
Leaving me wanting
Every time?
I am called man.
What will I call this thing?
No, this creature?
It is living, breathing
Like I
But it is not like I
It is fire
And water
And blue sky
No, no!
It is rivers
And oceans
And fields of bright
Yellow sunflowers
It is…
Unable to be named…
It is so unlike anything else
It should have a singular name
Only..what?
Oh, I am tired
I am weary
I long to call this thing
Something
Anything
I want to call it by name
But it remains
A mystery
A tomb
Filled with treasure
Never to be opened fully
To the sun
I will borrow its beauty
And share in its warmth
We will be as one
I will be he
And it will be she
We will be forged
Like the strongest of sword
I am the edge
She is the soft, buttery
Hilt
I am man
But she cannot be
I am not her
And she is not me
I must find a name
Something graceful and true
So I can be I
And you can be you
I have it!
I’ve found it!
I looked in the glass
Of a lake filled with fish
And I saw myself
Reflected and changed
And she
Woman
Has changed me.
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