you played to pursudae
my golden parade
into your midnight blue finger tips--
to hinder me to beg to be a part of the edge of your lips

oh young man why do you throw me in your bed like that
and touch my ribs and sides the way leaves touch the ground in autumn

your palms have left invisable marks along the small of my back

dont make me loose whatever is left inside of my thoughts
the waves of eminent energy that rush down your masculinity
as I simply watch adorning every crevice of anything that ever exsisted inside of you
and everytime I noticed this passion grew
---
and I always seemed to notice

when I felt blindness and artless
your name skipped in my blood
----
and I am no longer heartless