SENSE OF SENSITIVITY.

I sit in tempo.
The tempo of your touch.
I was your tutor, you were the student.
But now,
I am a weakling subjected to your weakness.
In power, I revoke not.
Of thy subject, submit I.
Waiting for the errand boy to err.

In might, Strong willed.
But of thy fresh, a mere barking dog.
Trousers and Skirts on the Street of streets.
In wit, my hands dance to thy tempo.
Of this, I can’t fight.
You have desolated my inner vessel.
And I am now naked from shoulder to waist.

I have become resistant to my resistor.
The dance, I haven’t known before.
Have become a part of my being.
A bond of bitter pleasure.

I value thy touch.
For, it is a SENSE OF SENSITIVITY.

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THE MYSTIC BEAUTY.

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