This woman with skin of sprawling desert dunes;
What does she mean to me?

Do I love her?

No, I think not.
But not because I never could;
Simply because I do not know her well enough to.
I wish to.

This woman whose decadent curls of hair could wrap themselves around my heart;
How do I look upon her?

A part of me fears that I do not.

She and I are of totally different lives.
Our worlds are so far apart from one another,
Sometimes I can barely see her;
Even when she sits or stands right before my own eyes.

Maybe it will always be like this;
Perhaps it should be.
Her world has no room for one such as myself.
I fear to bring her to my own,
Least I corrupt her flawlessly and without chance of redemption.

This woman speaking with a voice that sunders mountains within me;
Why does she touch parts of me best left forgotten?

While she has words to share, I have nothing to do but listen.
While she has pain to suffer, I have nothing but a readily-open heart to share.
While she has dreams to giggle, I have nothing but the brightest of joy to spread.
While she has fears to whisper, I have nothing but gentle embraces to give.
While she has thoughts to utter, I have nothing but a warm soul to believe with.

This woman in a body which shames the goddesses themselves;
When did I come to care?

At what point did simple, guilt-free lust from afar change into this;
At what point did it evolve into this beginning of Passion's brush-fires?
My heart and soul, the tinder.
Her body and mind, the sparks.

Impossibly, she stirs notions of old within me.
Ancient aspects of romance from times past.

I find myself trapped,
Caught in the desire to protect her from harm.

I find myself stilled,
Wishing to open my arms in sanctuary;
From the suffering, the drama, the confusion.

Even I am at a loss as to why I worry so.
A friend, I would call her if asked.
But "friend" entails not this level of almost obsessed concern.
A love of family, most definitely;
But not this queer desire to play the hero.

This woman behind those deflective eyes;
Who is she?

Gazing upon her, into her;
Whom do I see?

I see a child.
Scared and confused,
Holding tightly to herself as the skeletons in her closet grip at her with frigid talons,
Quivering in the face of soul-boring, bleak and dark Uncertainty.

I see strength.
Profound endurance,
Forcing herself to stay by its feet,
Complete defiance against all woe;
Endurance such as is lacking in this world.

I see a brilliant woman.
Graceful, yet fragile.
Beautiful, yet delicate.
Independent, yet reliant.
Practical, yet sympathetic.

This woman before me.
This woman beside me.
This woman behind me.
This woman caught in the snare of my mind.

Will she free herself,
Or shall she seep into the depths of my soul?