She doesn't want to be touched
until she is understood.
Not the outline,
the weight beneath it.
She carries longing
like a second pulse.
Quiet. Persistent.
Learned from being unseen.
When desire comes,
it's braided with memory,
every time she stayed,
every time she left,
every time she loved anyway.
Her body opens
only when her chest does.
Only when the ache
has her name.
She wants connection
that lingers after the
lights go off.
Hands that don't rush.
Eyes that don't look away
once she's bare.
There is heat in her, yes
but there is also grief,
and hope,
and a need to be met
where she actually lives.
When she gives herself,
it is not hunger alone.
It is trust.
It is saying:
I am here.
Please stay.
And when she is held,
truly held,
her body softens
not from touch
but from relief.
What She Feels – by Heather Mirassou
Discover more from The Sensual Soul Poet by Heather Mirassou
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
15 responses to “What She Feels – by Heather Mirassou”
-
Felt deeply Heather.
Love this !-
Thank you Maggie!
-
-
… reposted this!
-
… reposted this!
-
… reposted this!
-
… reposted this!
-
… reposted this!
-
… reposted this!
-
… reposted this!
-
… reposted this!
-
… reposted this!
-
… reposted this!
-
… reposted this!
-
… reposted this!
-
… reposted this!
Leave a Reply