Of what use do I have for a love that I cannot hurt with,
a love that leaves no scars.
How do I leave road maps back to you?
Knots in a rope,
a leaf trail,
footprints that return me into your soul.
I’m not deceived by a love that is sanitised and unwilling to scold,
smooth mountains never make much for climbing.
There’s nothing that excites me,
in a complicated face,
neither am I aroused,
by the curves and voluptuousness,
that makes a mockery of men.
I’d much rather the plainness of a woman,
who goes by unnoticed,
yet harbours a universe inside,
an outside wreck perhaps,
an inside wonder.