Pulse of life cannot exist
Without our concentric synergy
Propelled about through the mist
Devour me.
I only ask
My bubble-gum
My evening hum
If not asking too much
Do tear this shear
I only need your touch
To air out the fear
And finally be.
My lucky strike
My gentle blaze
Grape our love
In nectar sweets
Of gods’ haze
And beaches’ breeze
Seize me.
Like I seize you
In fragile devotion
To memory.
Yes, I commit
To climbing your body
Reaching summit.
Day the night away
This time
With me.
Our beams are one
And so is our skin
Harmonized in tone.
My flicking harp
My growing distance
My grown apart
Must show myself
We’re not to be.
The more I write
The more I feel
With time’s cruel beat
The less it’s real.
Our waves still merge
No opacity
In added layers
Of make believe.
Between vibrations of me and paper
Fractalized into being
By doing simply
The fruits of labour
Define me.
Yet it is our love
That I most seek
Through amassed mounts
Of moments hissed.
Our passion fix
Was never real
Nor blew away
Nor meant to be.
My skinny thorn
My poison ivy
Maybe anyway
But if never worn
This love will surely
Through apathy
Against my yearning
Destroy me.
But as I live
So do we
Then we’ll make plans
But as I live
Devour me.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
Pulse of life cannot exist
Without our concentric synergy
Propelled about through the mist
Devour me.
I only ask
My bubble-gum
My evening hum
If not asking too much
Do tear this shear
I only need your touch
To air out the fear
And finally be.
My lucky strike
My gentle blaze
Grape our love
In nectar sweets
Of gods’ haze
And beaches’ breeze
Seize me.
Like I seize you
In fragile devotion
To memory.
Yes, I commit
To climbing your body
Reaching summit.
Day the night away
This time
With me.
Our beams are one
And so is our skin
Harmonized in tone.
My flicking harp
My growing distance
My grown apart
Must show myself
We’re not to be.
The more I write
The more I feel
With time’s cruel beat
The less it’s real.
Our waves still merge
No opacity
In added layers
Of make believe.
Between vibrations of me and paper
Fractalized into being
By doing simply
The fruits of labour
Define me.
Yet it is our love
That I most seek
Through amassed mounts
Of moments hissed.
Our passion fix
Was never real
Nor blew away
Nor meant to be.
My skinny thorn
My poison ivy
Maybe anyway
But if never worn
This love will surely
Through apathy
Against my yearning
Destroy me.
But as I live
So do we
Then we’ll make plans
But as I live
Devour me.