Reservoir

With every lash
(And there were many:
There were the raspberry stripes due her,
But also those she bore for the temptresses, ingenues, and bitches
To whom she had given agency)
With every one
It seemed like she was opened,
Stretched a little further
On the medieval machine.
Given the ability to feel more and more
And overwhelmingly more.

Now she has this great reservoir in her chest,
Poorly supported by loose flesh,
Of surplus emotion --
Emotions that don't even belong to her! --
And she is terrified
Of the person who will
Come and with his dynamite kisses
Fell the great wall
And be her ruin
Loosing the flood,
Drowning the voice of her better judgment
That has labored for so long buttress the vulgar dam
(But her dam, nonetheless).
Some call it bounty
But she's afraid of it --
Afraid of a crack, rumble, and spontaneous dissolution
Of many moons of blood, sweat, and tears
Wrought by the hand of someone who may
Or may not be aware
Of the power of his touch.