Sweet Morning Air

He taught her, his lamb, how to properly care
He spoke to her, showed her, unveiled his plan
His grand expectations and thesis on love
He bared and he shared with his dearest, his dove
He sought the right words and he groped for the path
He served it all up like a great fatted calf

She focused and gave, bent backwards and stretched
Aroused and submitted, deconstructed herself
Offered up intellect, passion and touch
Provided fresh will, clothed herself in his thought
Cried and resisted, struggled and strained
She fed from his palm and she ate from his plate
Let him cry on her shoulder and drank of his pain
Tended his wounds, stripped the stain from his shame

She’s used and she’s weary, she’s forlorn and spent
She’s out on a limb with no hope of respect
She’s inside and outside, she’s here looking there
While he’s high on his mountaintop’s sweet morning air