she groans at the thought of his presence. touch this bowl, you can not. her teeth being shown ever more with each new engagement. her slow movements reduce a full mouth to single bites. the hunger is not for her stomach, but she'll tell you otherwise.
you, me, her wish this division in clarity! yet it is not.
her thoughts ponder ever so subtly the thought of sweet surrender, but only half a moment. so rudely awakened as a new one paces near. walks over and touches her head. pride seeps in as ink drops in water. thoughts of, "backwardness one has, if i won't bite." but the light comes through first small then great. more small than great. then, more great than small. and the center for selfishness diminishes as darkness against light.
you, me, her wish this division to be clarified clearly! it is what it appears not.
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