Southern Belle, Southern Rebel

I don’t know
Whether I adore you more
Draped in the rich pompousness
Of your evening dress—

Your scarce figure embraced
Jealously by fitted corsets
And silk pantalettes—
Or whether I’m more enraptured

When naught but plaid shirt
And low-cut shorts stand
Between my eyes and your
Tender bareness.

But whether your sun-born
Locks are wrapped in a
Bright bow and shielded beneath
A broad straw hat,

Or swinging freely in girlish
Pigtails, your intentionally
Unintended coquettishness
Exhausts my steel resistance.

How could I have imagined that
A mind so morose and a heart so
Somber (a soul so pridefully
Solitary) as mine could be overcome

By southern hospitality in its
Purest? The demons and ghosts of
Past afflictions dissolve into
Vaporous insignificance

When confronted by your charm,
An exquisite union of angelic
Innocence and devilish wickedness,
Aristocratic prudishness and
Plebeian abandon.

The way you lean your head
Against your hand, your elbow
Resting on the table as you make
The most delectable small talk.

The way you laugh heartily at
My jokes, hang onto my every word—
Leaving me questioning whether your
Interest is real or feigned.

In the fullness of your gaze,
I catch that spark in your eye.
Coupled with your playful smile,
It lets me know that within

This Southern Belle is a
Southern Rebel aching to roam free—
And wondering if I’ll be the one
To free her.

Saint and sinner.
Mistress and disciple.
Surrender yourself.
Let me conquer you as you’ve

Yearned to be conquered for so long.
Not with trepidation or
Circumspection, like past suitors.
Not with the tentative handling

Of fine porcelain, held with
Vexatious caution for fear of
Breaking. But taken lustfully.
Rapaciously. Insatiably.

Without concern or hesitation.
Without care or consternation.
Fully—deeply—made mine.

Come to me, my Belle.
Come to me, my Rebel.
Cast your innocence aside this night.

Luis Miguel

Luis Miguel

Writer extraordinaire.
Luis Miguel

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