Holding Herself for Ransom

You know, he says, there's a part of you that's pure,
underneath all that prickly stuff.

Your wide-lip-glimmer-eye-winsom-smile,
your soft-skin-brush-against-my-skin gives the real you away
more often than you might like to think.

Maybe it's the Me I ache to let loose, 
she whispers in a downward-blush-gaze,
but would it would just leave me too vulnerable.

His thumb traces her eyebrow.

Your barbed-wired borders seem so terribly tall,
you'd think a girl was holding herself for ransom, 
he thought to himself.

What price the ransom?
What kind of rich the man to pay it?
Tell me and I'll pay it every day till the day you are free.