Because arms as circles and mysticism appeal to me of late . . .

I was going to spend tonight working on an overly ambitious essay on human interaction and sexuality, but I doodled this in the margins instead. Look at what got finished, and what didn't. Rawr! This, er, vaguely poem-esque thing is a bit more disjointed than the last, but, at least I used line breaks this time - that must count for something, right? (Also, no one is holding me in thrall these days, but the memory of feeling stifled was on my mind.)

I want to rest again
Within the ardent circle
Of two arms about me
As I drift into sleep.

Where once I was enthralled,
I am held in thrall.
I distrust the protective circle
Cast about me
Unless it comes from my own hands.

By choice, tonight,
I wrap up in myself,
Eyes dry, air damp.
The rain beating down,
Landing with a gentle,
But persistent, force
On the dry earth,
Will suffice
For the tears
That cannot touch your breast.