I’ve told her,
and full well she knew what I meant,
that once I breached her well-defended gates,
crumbled beneath the irresistible force of certain desire
I’d bring to her,
the key to the city would be Mine.
Yet this Man’s conquest, direct and willful,
was a lesser victory
than her quiet, consistent advances,
weaving thoroughly inside Me
like soft grass growing between blocks of stone,
each supple blade springing back resiliently
from My sudden gusts and clumsy treading,
ever green,
while her roots stretch deep, strong and secure.
She’s in My blood now,
coursing further with every beat of My pulse,
nourishing the least bits of Me,
as overall I become solid
for the very first time.
She is part of Me now,
the best part of Me,
and to remove her would mean
to cut Myself in half.
While I’d vainly sought to make her Mine,
what I’ve found is that truly I don’t even exist
if not in her heart.
