Your passion looks like blood.
I’m innocent, I swear,
In a bar napkin after closing
Kind of way.
Torture my heart, young lover,
With innocent eyes and wishful legs
Standing too close
In a cocktail philosophy.
I haven’t decided yet
What color this heart beats as,
But I’d guess it’s
A shade of lust.
I’ve been dreaming of the impossible,
The beyond recognition
And what if space that exists
Just beyond steps yet taken
That flicker in and out while
Casually strolling
Through new segments of old paths.
Perhaps one day my imagination
Will ignite some future,
Just as dusty leather bounds
Kindle my growing passion
For a past life’s great moments.
I nurse territory that breeds unexpected, but it must be lizard brain
That keeps me coming home
To my familiar family
I’ve been carefully crafting,
For I’m still clutching tightly
To my worn jeans and
Lucky tooth necklace.
If it wasn’t for all the time I spend
Laying in bed wild and free,
I’d have surely lost all my passion
To be here now with you.
For when the moon howls at me
And tells me strongly to:
“Avoid the day, avoid the stone,
Set your spirit free.”
I’m often inclined to howl right back
Singing my favorite song.
But my heart! How it rides!
How it holds my hands and squeezes!
I’m in too far, I’m comfortable,
And my coffee gets delivered to me.
How can I go on wondering,
How does time elude my plan,
Did I walk off with silly games
I’d never make it home to play?
A memory that comes to me
Usually sets me free.
Like Hindenburg, Heidelberg,
Like Huxley, Hoyt, and Hank.
Like one thousand soldiers
Returning home
After two years of endless war.
Like comfort that you give me
As I lay side by side with you,
I reach into my back pocket
And expose my satisfaction,
I’m home.
Overdose of sin
Starts creeping in,
When all life’s
Every bit of good.
Like a fast drug
Empty highway.
Animal hollers loud,
Creeping in.
You can bet my
Bouts of passion
Are gonna find me
Loosing track of sin.
Like it already has
I am on my ride
Through world by night
Where I glide, glide, glide
Spinning and whirring
And fabrics of gravity
Dancing, her fingers
Delicate to my touch
Sweet sips of laughter
Delightfully close
Who art thou?
Nay, why art thou not nearer
To the street
Brightly aglow
Feelings of danger
Renewed sense of triumph
Can you not hold me?
Ah-hah! There’s passion!
There is the fire,
Trust thrust from within
And by the midnight hour
Sweet sounds through darkness
Ecstatic dance, dance, dance
My fingers hold bliss
To my greedy eyes
Linked with your greedy urges
To your greedy eyes
Pulled by my greedy love
To a galactical quadrant
An octahedral ecstasy
Linking of energies
Indulged in pure essence; avail to no end
Forever I walk as lonely gales
Blow against my heart
And sin and passion and ruthless desire
Shocked against pure pressure
Foot for foot I walk the line
That brings on changing weather
So who, but I, am fit to take
This step into abandon
As it lasts
We filled our souls
With what we had begun
A lovers embrace
Entangled trace
Eyes yet woke this day
Smell of skin
Lovers scent
Infused my hearts desire
Passion here
In warmth’s embrace
As a lover and I begin
Passion floods my blood soaked eyes
Laying dormant towards the sky
Fallen lifeless amidst debris
All life has ceased to be with me
For fuel once burned deeply within
A heart so true; nearly sin
That clogged the eyes searching about
Destined for truth, a heavy clout
Long had land been free to me
To wander about in unbound glee
Drained clean this heart of all its blood
To life that guides on in an empty flood
I can see the stars when I close my eyes
Time flickers back to a time in space
Where long grass tickled cold toes and exposed shins
Walking lackadaisically over uneven ground
Arm in arm, enjoying the moment fully
Fuzzy groups of dancing nymphs
Flirting with mavens of the night
Desire spreading thick
Anticipating cool morning fog
Loud vibrations floating through nights air..
I can smell the essence there that night
Palpable reckoning, subtle beckoning
Tentative but raw passion driving
It wasn’t infused delusion crippling my senses
It was more romantic than that
It is not I who shelter your conscience from the bitter truth of denial
It is not my sword that slays last hopes in fitful cries about bloody battle grounds
It is not my spells which sheath truth to avoid speaking amongst those who whisper wrongs by name
Nor is it the timbstrels who dance around the spoils of victory
That shake the knees of that noble fervor so deeply rooted in passions teeth
It is the lofty words of treachery and treason that curse the steeds of ambition’s race