October 18, 2011
Your voice is rich as wine
and I, a silly girl, am drunk
dancing to the music of
your hands,
which pull at my muddled strands of resolve
until they break
and I, intoxicated,
can not help but unravel
at your fingertips.
It is a relief to be the one to give in,
instead of the one tugging on the ropes.
I do not love you,
but I have been taught to say
that doesn't matter.
pour me another glass,
I will keep dancing.

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