What is in the
curves that grabs
me when she smirks
with her familiar ways?

She holds the words
like a curved dagger
to the bosom of all
my soul.

They are meat and bones
with mammaries that
feed the starving
hope.

Why is it that women
curse a spell that
binds the very soul
of me to their waking
moments?

I curse them but beg them
to stay in my arms
if I had a choice.
In their fainting desire.

They lean on me then
they toss me to watery
streets below.

I shed many of tears,
but for them it is
the finest wine they
can drink out of.

And in it all they have
little love for the love
I want from them.

12/12/2008

Posted on 12/12/2008
Copyright © 2025 Christopher Shin