Porcelain

He held her like Porcelain
A placeholder between their fantasy and reality.
He kissed her gently; their lips parting in synchronicity
Soft as petals, of a white rose but
with a passionate urgency that grows.
We're taking our time and neither of us mind
The nights are stretched late; we burn the midnight oil
There still never seems to be enough hours in a day
Hours that could be spent getting to know you,
Allowing you to know me.
Maybe there isn't much to know,
Maybe the drawers of my personality are shallow & plain.
Maybe my need to twist and distort my body to my liking,
in the face of a mirror, is vain.
My face, retouched or un-fussed, is yours to see
To be naked is to allow you to see my thoughts completely,
Pure--this is our most intimate exchange.
Doubt is cast away, conquered by your sentimental recollections;
they reveal your genuine severity to maintain
This tightly woven connection we now sustain.

--Natalie Klett