Will She Ever Be Mine, Or Will I Miss? Poem by Jodie Louise Pollock

She doesn’t believe lust is important,
She likes to believe shes independent,
And she is in every single way,
But she desires lust,
Even if she doesn’t say.
Lust is all she would need to make her life complete,
She’s got her health, and her career,
But all she does it retreat,
Why is that so?
What is so bad about lust?
Or love?
Is it because she’s been hurt?
And she can’t pull her self up from being low,
She looks happy,
She looks okay,
She’s smiling,
But her eyes read what no words can say,
Inside she cries,
Her eyes swimming with whys,
To pull her close would be right,
To protect her during the day and night,
To keep her safe from hurt and lies,
As her eyes fail her and she cries and cries,
But i can’t do that,
Not now not ever,
For she’s a closed book,
Never to be opened,
Never to be read again,
No one to see or look,
I walk away,
My heart burning in my chest,
Knowing this isn’t the day,
But,
My hand is being pulled,
I turn and look at the pull,
It’s her,
Her eyes full of worry but something else too,
Something different,
And it’s aimed at who?
Me?
She’s looking at me with love in her sorrow filled eyes,
She takes my hands in hers,
Pulls me close,
Like a dream,
We kiss then,
Her kiss so sweet,
Tasting like salt from her tears,
But i can feel her relax as i take away all her fears,
The kiss sends ripples of pleasure through my spine,
I love her,
She’s mine,
We kissed,
She’s mine,
Look at what I could have missed.