mediocre lines

i was folded into vanilla sheets
and like waves, they carried me to the marksman’s door
he surveyed me down, a tangled mess
hued red with my shame and unpurposed desire

i could not melt into those hawk eyes
impaled and sliced open, i was ripened fruit
never the patient gardener, he devoured me
so unintentionally, such a stealing of sweet seed
rendered into sugary satisfaction

he hunted me, an empty prey
and my fixed path of stumbles and falls
excited breaths of thoughtless chase
his hands roamed the creases of my land,
dipped into my rivers, dissolved my snowy ranges
enveloped the plains and swelled the caverns

he was the harsh possessor
forcing me into the moment forever