To this acquaintance, A rendezvous with midnight. A gentle Déjà vu and in some sense I wonder if an unspoken invite Has played a part or two. Does the past ever ensue?
Words do become an addiction. Layer upon layer of repeated satisfaction Interjected, felt and spewed. Silken sheet’s confessions are Best made in the ****. These words, why are they so bizarre?
Oh let me write it right Let me dream tonight Upon this unarmored stage. Let me free the fight All through the night Releasing it from its cage.
With a candlelit smile upon a face The sheets do gently part. What fills my heart Is the gentle art Of a finger painting slowly traced. It has not been done by the ones Lessening love absent of these notions.
What lies beneath must lie beside As the past becomes renewed. A gentle kiss a midst a torrents tide The naked beach subdued. Wet sand shaping dry demands
Déjà vu be wooed.
Have you ever had that feeling that you had been somewhere before but you knew you hadn’t? Or met someone that you somehow knew yet had never met? Well this piece tries to deal with just such a feeling.