busking to the outer hands
grasping for a taste of life
reaching for a soft thigh
breathing in the scent
upon a sigh

I sing the song of the outcast
the borderlands stand foreign
against all thought
and the ruling emotion
is
pure
emotion
a guttural cry is last
next to our swaying motion

darker than the twilight
throatier than a growl
to come apart in the moonlight
without running a foul
of crossing from the sunlight
to the darker plains of pain
the borderlands are not for the weak
or those starved of the rain

the dryness is oppressive
the darkness is aggressive
dusking in the borderland
leaves one crooning
to the old world muse
with a fragility
that is impressive

so they sit upon the crossroads
listening to the songs of desire
and watch the sun set
but left an empty shell
because they refused
to be consumed
by the fire