Do not love me at all expecting that I am a flower.

Do not touch me as though I am a dew drop;

I will fade away with the warmth at your finger tips.

Do not tread on me, believing that your insteps will

Find it comfortable to walk on me.

Do not try to climb down into the depth

Of my fathomless heart,

Assuming I am only knee deep.

Do not try to delight me with a kiss

On my disillusioned lips, believing

It is enormously charming and sweet.

I am just a woman, with all the vileness

Of this world, and none of these.

I am no angel….


One thought on “Prognosis…

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