where my heart is

i prayed

what else could i do?

what else was left?

when a man enters you

and i don't know what to do

because god created me to be entered

but it is not your entrance

and we smoke

and talk of love

and hierarchy

and homes

and our love is there,

in that cafe

in that bed

unconsummated

and is it a consolation

that we do not consummate

yet still love

is it enough?

is it the pain I adore?

or is it truly your smell?

now with my cloak

not nearly passionate enough

i cover up once again

only to know that these covers will be torn away

and i will let them

your opening of my heart

is as good

and your stabbing of it.