If I gift you with the depth of my eyes will you honour them? Treat the soul found nestled within with respect even if ‘we’ end? Whispered promises, in stillness beyond the enamoured coiling of our physical selves, whispered promises after we have writhed in ecstatic friction as if to break apart and merge within the other; whispered promises easily forgotten in parting and in loss. Will you cherish me even in ending that our secret selves remain forever a treasure between us not a weapon to maim? How do we allow the passing of the true self, unbidden by falseness or fear? Will you hold an image filled with the memory of the beauty of us, of me standing bearing my naked soul for you only, within your mind to evaluate and whisper our promises before uttering aloud the words that might tear me asunder? Can I do the same with the tender gift of your self?
words by errant satiety