Why is the voice of truth muted
The sensation of pleasure runs dry
Brittle and cold
The girl reaches out to only a twig of purpose
utter despondency
His touch is meaningless
Alluring emptiness
foolish embraces
Cradle my sadness
aching--numb.

A Question
 

He asks what is best for me
As though he does not know
He has seen the answer and felt the answer
deep within me
He has opened up the case
of indifference shielding me
and with a warm caress
amazed and unraveled me
I surrender to the simplicity
of his addicting energy.
 

Serious inquiries about Cheryl's poetry are encouraged: