Prope

 I sit and wait for her in the loft
hands on laps nothing to say
no disease, just grace

She looks me over like an angry lion
Point on my skin she longs to find
to bleed me out slowly

She circles me and regards my posture
She pours over me smoke to cure
Its just her voice imposing

Electricity dies down
The humm of it subsides now
I open myself to the lows and highs

Her tear drop escaped and I feel shy
It lands on my taut exposed thigh
On my shame

I sit in silence as nostrils inhale
near my neck, I feel frail
Just accepting

Life is those purple silk curtains
Pulling to and fro over window frames
deciding just how much to show the world

Then she enters and installs blinds
intends to dine on me
mercilessly