I am tired,
My being,
haggard,
worn,
needs solace.
Despite the passion
Of those fingers,
That make
every pore
Sing for more,
My soul cries out,
Wailing
Woefully,
For release.

I am defenceless,
My body,
open,
Responsive,
wants satiation.
Despite the fervour
Of your love,
Which leaves me longing
Craving for peace,
My soul sulks away
Wilting
Willingly,
Until freedom.

By Rabab Khan


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