naive

he spears like a dagger
through the core of my being.
i wait for me to heal
but he strikes again.
the wound should hurt,
but it doesn't.
instead, the perfume hits.
like a garden of freesias.
the racing wind in its galleries,
burn me with desire,
instead of soothing,
instead of cooling.
i'd rather stray than be controlled
but he's so distant.
like a far-off meteor
he's unbearably sensual
in a way that hurts.
his charms beyond bounds.
he smolders like Lugosi.
his eyes like dying embers
alight with a kindled fire.
of a lifetime of gravity.
he smells like an Archangel,
no mercy upon any naivete.
the churns inside,
i'm glad,
are not just felt by me!!