To know more than the plessures of a nights collision. Twisted is the tangle in the blindness of passion it absorbs into the night.
Far beyond actions and simple passion of a night shared. The scent of its plessure makes thoughts subside. As she does tease the senses we are brought down to the ways of children begging for release.
To know passion and embrace the moment she will not understand. Dreamers cannot fathom its pure reallity.
Laced in love so ****** up from life. Gentle are the velvet edges tender as the surgeons knife.
When it ends maybe tommorow it shall begin. To feel it's fire only to be tormented by it's cold.
The beauty of a violent release flustration in arms of regret does reside. The sounds of echo of torments plessure. The true voice we were so unwilling to admit.
As in the are madness sanity is but a glimmer of light. As held tightley two bodies rest weary. Cast a jaded view of love of a immortal apon this soon to be forgotten night.
Sometimes im am a lover of the abstract. Yet always my nature is to tell a story one that is left to be many things to the reader.
dedicated to my angel of torment. and glimmer of hope. J.E.R.