The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

I’ve
got a
pleasant
knife
sticking
out my
back.

The oyster. Her oyster,
I've been dying to see the pearl,
the moment I and she,
went to swim together,
our eyes, with intense emotions, half closed.
I'll softly touch her with my long, trembling fingers,
swiftly, when I touch,
it would open like a jewel box,
I'll peer inside at all the treasures,
exotic it would be, never forget,
through obsessive nights,
I thought and kept awake, bleary eyed,
I wanted to tell her this,
but then, froze on my tracks.

The oyster, it glows in mind,
she, too pulsates with excitement,
we'll be together, in this submarine adventure.

In that night, our hearts didn't even wink,
sauntering through the still moon lit terrace,
when, one by one stars  
fell in place and adorned the sky's coiffure,
the waves of the sea,  softened
moved in languid salaciousness,
then, at that precise moment,
we came face to face.

The rough grains of sand, under our undulating bodies,
sighed sweet, sang a ***** night gull's song,
searing feel of salty wind  mingled with blood
oozing from love bruise, bites that hurt,
enhanced the pleasure of frothing blood ,
thirsty mating tongues, twirled and twisted.

*Oyster, her oyster, I remember every moment,
tapering in to gentle whispers,
dissolve and be the light, playing with the humming waves.

In the dark
Is where you will find yourself
If you do not shape up
And get some help
Avoid hanging around bad company
For they are the ones who bring you down
There is a cloudy scenery
You will fall right to the ground