Folk tale

I

A girl who much prefers the heat
as myself, with my bare feet
and a swollen, sensitive breast
hoarding my heart, this wild beast.

A body remembers a horse's smell
that seemed to suit me so well
like a pretty dress falling off one shoulder
only to show me to myself as I get older...

Coming here with every scar
no one can see from afar,
I thank you for the honor, Sire,
of screaming with you towards the fire.

II

Woman, you were never meant to crawl
but to have a skin that feels it all,
from my lips on the back of your hand
to a set of teeth out when comes the end.

Hiding behind a hunch and a hair
waiting for what feels really fair...
And what makes you stand still
not out of fear, but free will.

Maybe not to respond with salt
to something that is no one's fault
but to wonder what lives on the border
between this sense and the other...

III

Is this how a child from town
goes deeper and without a frown
where she might not belong
and so much could go wrong?

At once with a lot from others to hide
but, again, the soul open wide
hoping that some time soon
its shape will appear under the moon?

Not a prisoner of flesh, thoughts,
past, future and their whatnots
or legs now turned so weak
as when she doesn't intend to be meek?

IV

Yes, when you want to touch the core
because you know there's way more
if you are brave enough to try,
take a breath and say aye.

You might end up with a story
of smile and tear, downfall and glory
and like here, dark and light
where you don't survive without a fight.

But as of now, think not of tomorrow
or of that rest of sorrow.
Just let the sunlight grow thin
while eyes and arms welcome you in.

26/07/2019