In Being His

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The possession was always easy.

 

In the yielding of all

that he is, and the me that

is forged at his behest and hunger,

there is no home like I know

and have in him.

 

How can it be so that there is no me without him?

 

The demands cease to be harsh.

The breaking is complete.

Nothing can be hidden if he

Indeed be all that I know he is to me.

 

How can one that knows you

not be called Master?

 

Beyond the ease of clothes off bodies,

Or kisses to mouths.

The depth of this,

Of being his,

Is learning to breathe underwater.

 

The descent is as deep as the rise to be his.

 

The possession was always easy.

 

-(c) Janelle Fallon