Metaphorically Yours

She said to me

"Boy your touch is like fire.

I speak no satire.

Love your mouth is sugar-sweet.

Lies are something I just don't breed.

Baby, I love your honeyed voice,

But I hate men who play with women like toys."

"For freedom becomes me,

to me, grace is free.

To me, it's in the curve of my body.

I weep not for parting, for I'm not sorry.

It didn't work, your love was a cranky machine,

I'm not one to stand low for your tears pristine.

Baby, women can no longer stand prison bars,

But I shall forever remain, metaphorically yours."