A Warrior Tale
by Mary Ann Escamilla
copyright 2004

Opening my eyes

I can almost imagine your scent,

Feel the heat of your skin,

And the soft of your touch.

Next to you I can stop breathing.

Filling me with your irreverence,

Your intricate movements devour my control.

What is control?

Control stifles the spirit,

You make it howl at the wind

As it shudders to your whim

While its vestiges drip over you.

I close my eyes and feel myself

Ensconced by your inspired nature,

While you thrust your dominance

Unleashing my imprisoned zeal.

Muses bow at your skill

Of delving away at the maladies

From their

deepest encroachments

To retrieve the banished artist.

Who knows that if words be weapons,

Lips over lips can disarm the truest warrior.

 

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