He is like those grains in the sand
those that disperse and get blown away
in unsteady stances, unfair hunches
and the point is.... "you don't turn my mind"
in the caskets of your stored emotional
where a connection is jarred and jammed
such a physical distaste and stirred responses
and besides that, the gods must be in the know
ohh...may be the wind that turn into the spring
will turn me on to a mountain of dreams
then the rains will wash and touch me deep
until my feelings tickle me to the flow
that’s the time I would be free to make love
holding hands by the dimmed candle lights
kissing under the bloom of the weeping willow tree
beside other lovers who will be mesmerized
by the flight of the need, the fight as agreed
and the season will capture the realness of love