She swings all day this
red. As she slumbers
off to the lands in which she
resides, she finds the
lad, her future band, her
hold on, her unfortunate task.
In her mind as she meets upon this
glimpsed shadow, this phantom
who steals her lungs, cannot plead,
for he is in control
of this she, herself in red.

Nothing savage, nothing graphic
as she will run away, lying in
sweat, away from this ghost of
enlightenment, she cannot be broken
for she runs faster than the
promises made to her.

So to the contradictions
he needs to **** his find, but
emerge in her heart so if
this red is to be left lone,
she needs to wake, this unfaithful
infant in mind.
Cannot stop for a drink.
Must run further until that frontal lobe ocean, will
confide her wishes, her secrets
for no one to unfold. For the papers
have been wrinkled and he will
unwrap ages to find her
Poem of love, within so many notes
on affection and tests on
emotional responses.