I will be your onion.
You will peel me layer by layer,
exposing me, leaving me open,
but damned if I don't make you cry
as you do it.
How is it that you can make me
put myself in your hands,
as you spread me apart?
Peer through muted tears
to the center of my heart
(the taste is something to remember).
I must be crazy trusting you
to pull me into pieces,
only to reassemble them
at your leisure. One day,
perhaps,
it will not be enough.
But by the light of day, your watering eyes glisten
like the pearl I hide within me,
unilluminated and unseen.
Copyright (c) 1997 {hamlet}Ophelia