During the dark hours of cold night,
During the bright hours of unforgiving light,
I turn in sleep, restless and unbound to peace,
Edging away from a dream,
As Ships edge away from the safety of land into stormy seas.
And then it hits me, the mace of my memories,
The memory spike ravages, savages,
Pierces deep, deep down.
Crushes tears, and the crimson blood of my soul,
Is defiled by the salt of her tears.

Yet not today.
Today passion reigns deep in my marrow,
The f lames chastising all pain.
The heavenly fire seeps throughout each and every vein,
With each beat, my heart is once again ablaze.
It is feral and wild, the urge to create,
Which started even before the creation of time.

It rules my daily movements,
It dictates the terms.
Of my descent, of my descent into hell.
I am a mundane guy for this term I serve on earth,
A sucker for sunsets and sunrises, full moons, azure lakes, pretty beings of the fair *** and a lot many simple things.
If only anyone knew how much I love,
Cotton candy, pretty eyes, doughnuts and symmetry.

It seems for this tenure on earth,
Cupid is my fabled foe.
He sets me up for failure,
Polishes the mace of memories,
Again and again.
But it is like Krishna said.
Times of sorrow are forgotten in times of greater sorrow or joy.
I always get lost in fiery sensuous moments,  
I taste raw-things making it harder not to succumb to lustful-whims.
I relish thoughts about carnal sin, dream about intimacy between intertwined-bodies,
Yet I am composed.
I can hide those intimate thoughts,
And smile a little smile which makes me die a little on the inside.
I dare not get too close.
For it is like Dante said.
There is no greater sorrow
Than to recall a happy time
When miserable.