I am the man,
Who would lust after your skirts,
Feeding on your wistful dreams,
Shielding you from lesser evils.
I am the woman,
With her long nails and soft touches,
Tendrils of hair escaping chignons,
Yielding to be loved and cared for.
I am man-made, your creation-
An identity in your mind,
Banging against the cages of your thoughts,
Sculptured to your desired form.
And I am nothing,
Like a wisp of air in the rain;
But I could be everything,
If you move me from mind to heart.
Copyright © thearcticstar 2016