Her Touch

It was too much. The thoughts. The rush
He had tried to be strong. Not break down. Stand his ground
The battle was already lost, the beast had gained too much
Low grade tension gripped his soul a bit much
Nothing he did, even if in hushed tones, kept his struggle from slipping out and about

She watched her king struggle with antiquated societal machismo guidelines
Patiently, she let him wage and rage against the beast caged by weak lines
In due time, he would come to his senses, it was the way of the ego, trying to look prime
Eventually, exhaustion would take hold, and the breaks in the defiant lines would crack open wide
She would be ready to rescue her knight before he fell apart and scattered his mind

He sat hunched over a cold meal, filled with self loathing
Thinking about who was right or who would warm up the oatmeal
The knocks in his back, causing all manners of knots to snap taunt
Words had escaped him during his stay in the vault that haunted
The foundation was badly shaken, the walls finally had broken

In the manner suitable of a lady, nothing too fancy
She made her way casually and let her finger trace the back of his arm
Feeling, with a smile, the hair on his arms stand upright in respectful attention
She drew her own soft line direct to the spot behind his hunched height
Fingernails tantalizing as they slightly dug in a reminder not to fight

Finding his hair, the key to his lair, she grabbed as if she didn’t care
He needed to understand the strength of her grip, was because she cared
Softening, allowing his mind to give in to the beast’s despair
She whispered in his ear, sweet nothing, that rose up his chest hair
His lips, for the first time in some time, cracked, exhaling much detained air

Securing the softness of his neck into the crook of her elbow
She pulled him gently back, and straightened out his posture
Reminding him, his royalty did not quit even when sulking in misery
Holding him tightly, securely, she breathed a new pace for him to match
With her free arm, wrapped securely around him, she poured into his soul

Her touch calmed the hungered beast and set it free to roam openly
His breathing normalized and his thinking got back in line

The Vault

There is a reason why the phrase “make up sex” exists. There is healing in sexual connections. Musicians have made their fame with the lyrics explaining the process.

The beauty of this therapy is simple. It does not require one person to initiate it alone. Meaning… it’s not the domain of one person to spark the connection for such healing. It’s not just the man’s job or just the woman’s job.

It’s the responsibility of anyone who wants to keep their relationship going. They’ve got to do something to keep the healing happening.

Each gender has their specialty just like each person has their unique approach. Whatever the case may be… when the gates of the vault are cracked open, for Pete’s sake, ignite that fire of sexual healing!

There is room for dialogue, of course, but not all conversations have to be formal, verbal, or intellectual. A good carnal word heals many a wounded bones.

Bring back your peace and sanity by letting your fingers run through his hair as his hands grabs a fist full of yours. Or whichever way you two enjoy touching each other.

If not, the vault will find a way to call him back and lock him back up… out of reach of your softest touch.

(the reverse also applies fellas… women have their own vaults as well)

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Appreciate you for following this mini series. All the associated posts will be linked below on a dedicated page. From that page, please click on the image or title to get to the other pieces. Thanks for reading ”The Darkened Vault Poetic Series” trilogy.

dedicated page – Dark Vaulted Series