Delah

Never been the type to hold you back,
When the morning stretched its hand out to you,
No, I wouldn’t dare intercept its reach,
Or cloud your path by fog, creating a murky view,

For if anyone knew that life was a challenge,
A struggle beyond measures, it was indeed I,
Shifting my happiness into the sixth gear manually,
When I wanted to thereby beam towards life… for you, I’d cry

The sun gave very little respect to your endeavors,
Grey clouds just seemed to impress you more,
And here I am listening to the voices of my peers,
“Let her decay” they’d say, for she’s rotten to the core,

I’d never call you a prostitute,
For that term never felt right for my lips to say,
Rather a beautiful friend of mine caught in a maze of sexual frustration,
Searching out the depths of hell to find her way,

The right to judge you never felt more horrid,
Especially after battling my own satanic devil, and locusts
The tragedy is that we all strive for Love,
And should be injected by its syringe in doses,

The smell of alcohol, foreign perfume, and night ramblers,
All nestled within the fabric of your skin,
And then your own fragrance that you’d keep in your pocketbook,
That never did quite blend in,

You’d stay at my place for a few nights,
To cope with the norm, and feel my body heat next to you,
And I’d allow you to do so on several occasions,
Because strangely, it did something for me too,

Late night conversations way past 3 a.m.
Your back against my chest, naked porcelain skin enticed,
Caressing the portrait of your frame from your breasts to your inner thighs,
Yet never overstepping that boundary, for it just didn’t seem right,

By morning I’d hear the door shut,
But never quite closed fully, instead allowing a gap of light to seep,
Uncertain of if you were coming back, I never asked questions,
I’d leave it unlatched for an hour or so, just to wait and see,

It’s been a while now since a pebble has ticked my window,
And a subtle voice has yelled, “are u still awake?”
From time to time I look down into the grassy area where you’d stand waiting for an answer,
But nevermore, have you returned by fate,


Delah.