Lies

There are too many secrets here
within your touch.

I ought to be content with it.
But I am not.

For I have come to know that there were others,
many others,
who have moaned low at its pulse,
its weightlessness,
its irresistible insistence in the night,
and taken it, their wills dissolved beneath your hand,
– oh do not lie, you meant them to --
for love.

It’s so.

And now you say that I’m the only one,
the only only one,
you ever wanted, yes, to be undone
and laid low by its need.

“Believe, believe!”,
you whisper in my ear.
Ah how I wish that I could trust your words.
But they, I fear, are flighting wings,
and things of air,
as full of worth as dust.