In her fearless
qualm she turns
still as restless,
the inner beast stirs.

Been too long
since her blood
rushed for days,
those other crushes
crushing hard when
she was looking.

Now she's not.

Been too long
yet never
did it come quite
so soft in the stillness
of no intent
save the enjoyment
of laughter's sweetest
flush of cheeks pink
and the desire
to blush the other.

Quietly she
takes a breath.

Tomorrow as yet
she says she
will worry tomorrow
of what may come
and revel in the
briefness of today.

For in her past
she recalls
how frail the body
and quickness
of the soul to flee.

Through salt tears
she whispers
my god, my god,
take no more from me

for I connot stop...

giving.