Stone and ivory have a clash, that repeats
Itself, in frequent cues.
Alike the shores of pebbled beaches, to walk upon their texture,
And then to notice,
How some may stick upon the soles of a foot.
And I am against your breast,
The ivory texture that is much alike
The soles of your feet,
That had plodded course after course, over my soul,
When I was not looking.
I was merely a tool,
Was I not?
I am now a man who wishes vengeance
And I will have it,
With all the fury where once encapsulated
Merely desire, to have you near.
And I have you near, at this time,
Though, I only hear own my heartbeat, and it rages rapidly.
It rages, because I know I have lost.
Fewest tresses against my cheeks
Are not my own.
They are yours, little woman, once beloved.
My anger has no focus.
It merely goes
In directions, untold, and away from me,
Away from my own control.
I repeat, that I wish for vengeance,
To wage war against you,
And I repeat, that I will have it, for you are loved, no longer.