Léa

Between the hammer and the anvil,
I seem to float at standstill,
My hand slowing going through your black hair,
A tender caress filled with despair.

I do not care for tonight,
So please, let me be your knight,
I draw my sword and you open your sheath,
And here we go, in a few rapid breaths.

Your body is a work of art,
And I am at its heart,
I sculpted everything since its start,
And now am begging for a restart.

Your freedom attracts me between your legs,
Filled from a hundred men’s dregs,
And now cleaned with mine, too recently,
But also passionately and pleasantly.

I can’t give you what you want,
For that you’re the prey I haunt,
I wish I could but my heart is out of reach,
And for freedom I beseech.