When no one is neglected
and everyone is satisfied
I sometimes call a truce
Only then do I notice that my thighs
are trembling silk,
and my eyes capture green
in certain light.
But my ardor for me cools
quick as shower wet skin,
and, hair wrapped like a swami,
I can easily crystal future hostilities.
Self and love is an uneasy alliance,
and even temporary tenderness is an art.
I'm no artist, yet.
For Grapeling's Get Listed at Real Toads