The Picker

Ripened with the smell of lavender 

I find myself surrendered in your lust.

I bend quite easily at the hint of heartbreak.

I am very quick to sway my tongue.

With the force of fingers feeling aptitude 

I eased my body to your will;

Erased that part of me denying desire,

Lulled it and carved it to attention.

I pick apart the wounds that fester,

Lick them clean and find that hope in you;

The hope I lack in myself.

Surrender to the ages of a daffodil in melodic dismay.

The wind is at my heel

But the past is hard to shake.

And whispers could give better advice

To a withered man brought to knees.

In the depth of darkness

My fortitude

Will find in you

And careen into possibility 

That none shall quite possess.

You long for such abandonment

As if your heart could take the blow

But chambers to select

Wouldn’t dare to let you show.

How does one behold to you?

What secrets to invest?

What sympathy can be offered

To a man that feels so right… 

but knows what’s best?