be > the sum of YOU

shesanargonaut:

Back arching,

thunder crashing,

lightning bottled secrets spilling

down agape lips,

                                                          I am not your whore.

Could a whore do

                                     this?

Caress your wings with corset hands

and still remember your fingerprint

when the morning called?

              Or could a whore do                            

                                                      this?

Kiss the places where your fingers have left

crescent moon marks and still call

them “radiant”?

                                                                    I am not your whore.

I am a lace driven,

                 silk spun,

                      gossamer lipped,

                           leave you ‘till you’re trying to shake

                               my name off the sheets

strumpet.

                                          I am crisp with my intentions,

                                     figure like an hourglass with no sand.

A whore will leave with you with lipstick covered crustacean pinches,

but I will wash over you like a shoreline,

always returning for the stains of sun

that you left on the hemline of my

favorite dress.

                                                         I think I’ll keep the stain.

Sheesh. This is too good not to reblog. Worth the read.