my love when it began to spin to self
gratifying, slap me twice on each cheek
bring my libido back to check
my ego not needing the attention

the hurt gone, just a lonely spot
bleeding, once in my chest
where once I had a
heart not broken

to where in reach of my
callousness once I felt everything
I need your strength
your understanding

your lips to
say you will be there
for me
unconditionally.

I was sitting in my basement thinking about my attic as I awaited the first bombs to drop in the next world war

I guess I'm pretty lucky to understand that metaphysically nothing really is unless we perceive it is so even death by chemical nerve agents can be a pleasurable experience that we come back for again and again

And that time I died before when the only metaphor would have to be trying to guide a wooden canoe across an active volcano

I can't wait to try that again

Will my Soul ever encounter its mate
or is it one of those that rendezvoused too late?