Burst the surface of her tenderness with adept fingertips.
Slip them inside her bittersweet core, and ravish her innocence that
is so knowing—a seasoned naivete—not quite that of a girl,
nor, yet, of a woman.
She will bend to your will because she chooses to,
and because it easier than arguing.
But the chase is what the child wants;
the force, what she doesn’t expect;
the fire, what the woman wants;
the desire, what makes her feel blessed.
The sudden capture makes the child giddy with mock fear;
the powerful rapture what makes the woman want you near.
It is the office of the lover to polish both sides of the stone
that it may shine more brightly in your presence than when alone.