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By coujeaux Date: 2003 Dec 22 Comment on this Work [[2003.12.22.03.23.9461]] |
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In her slowbreath comes fleet touch of memory, paired with imagination; this is what could be, For now, perhaps to their stopgasps 'tis interweaving of intriguing; you were made, but for me? Awake in the blessed nights they share exquisite delights, exchanges of a most intimate scope, As quiet whisper of possibilities keep pushing passionate persistence far enough to foster hope. Shift mind upon the softrest dreamscape, see whatever has your attention for now; wonder so, And as moves their bodies in embrace of suppleflesh certainty, take us to where only we know. Stern is the instruction of those who've known chaositic raptures; stay you in the safearm sway, Affirmations provided in those lightningmare representations of times you were succulent's prey. Temptation be not the substitute for sustenance, for it's often but extra morsels on sated plates, Dare you risk your buffet of plentitude to sample the fleettaste of some delicacy that yet awaits? Sugartooth upon a bitter clench, behind your eyes lies the monkeywrench; tell yourself as must, While sceneries and kaleidoscopes of skinweld perfection lick upon necknape of constrained lust. Drumbeat is slow and steady, will we ever be ready, shall this step be one into a chasmous fail? And the heads become less rested as the confidence is tested by questions penetrating the veil. Fear not, wish high, for there the answers lie; nothing is so treacherous as a life devoid of whim, Should you see at last whatever held you fast, it will enrich your life 'til day your aura grows dim. Now has he reclined, somewhat resigned to a realization that perhaps opportunity passed him by, In the farreach of noctis lest we not forget that when nothing is decided quite yet, there is no why. |