Each day is no finite, waking west from dream I marginally
recall, so completely consumed by it all, confused, yest still tempted, not
love, lust, lingering on the tip of tongue or limb as I spend the day light
hours desperate to get back, and with dark, closing my eyes to trust I might,
the thrust of it all, the thick muck of my own desire, never satisfied, always
in need for more, to touch and be touched, to feel and be felt, to plunge deep
into the deepest debauchery, then waking only to lose it all, forgetting
details, feeling the intensity of its loss, the lingering sensations of what
was and in day light, no longer is, this desperate need to do it all again and
again, and not merely in dreams or a memory, but for real, to taste it all, to
feel myself delving into deep places I know I should not go while in the
reasonable mindset of daylight, night fading into bliss until morning comes
once more
No comments:
Post a Comment