She let out a muffled scream,
of passion and emotion,
thoughts rushing through her mind,
of restrained but freeing motion.

Making feeling paramount,
not intellect, was the aim.
Hand, face, feet all blurred,
She couldn't herself tame.

Of gentle flicking,
of mad thrusting,
of soft caressing,
of violent pounding.

She couldn't concentrate,
on the thoughts and things,
which flapped its butterfly wings,
all of which rapture brings.

With painful sounds of pleasures more,
with broken dreams and powers galore,
with shredded pains and children four,
she held him crazy, knowing what's in store.

And in the process of going
and coming, to the point,
She lay back on the ashes,
of her dreams disjoint!

Half the man I was,
I enjoy but I don't laugh,
I hum but I don't sing,
I move but I don't dance,
I care but I don't love,
I am me,
but only somewhat.

Breaking gold, and copper, red.
Dark lines lining a sea of tales.
Of pearls within a moment's existence.
Silence remains of his persistence.

Diamonds contour the frame,
Sparkle and sizzle the game.
Images taken or not,
broken promises, a lot,
new visages, not one,
slowly, slowly undone.

Such was the time,
such was the place,
such was the heart,
such was the face.
Such was he,
who wanted to test.
Forever more wanting,
In another life he guessed.

In another life he guessed
those tales will be heard again,
and those pearls will be worn,
as garlands of togetherness.
But for now, the stories have to wait,
till he sees her again,
till he loves her again.

Faith... what makes it,
and what breaks it.
Remains unknown.
But to the empty carcass
of the once enabled,
full bodied,
rotting corpse of man,
it remains within,
the soul.
I thought being true,
is all that it takes.
Of vision and revision,
all that it needs.
Of writing and re-writing,
all that it feels.
Mistaken I was,
I never understood,
the complexities and complications.
Of twisted veins in bodies,
and in minds,
sinewy and dark.
Filled with ****** fluids,
running their jobs.
Impulses fatigued,
robbing it of consciousness.
Where finally there was none.
Throbbing still,
with hope.
And life.

The hands of movement,
by and by
break our fall,
they're indeed very sly.

A freedom of spirit,
Is slowly being crushed.
When one sees desperation,
dirt and dust.

A freedom is being taken,
to meet new lives,
Instead being given
...muffled cries.

A freedom is being snatched,
of happy joys.
Gender and doubt,
unlikely toys.

But trust was asked,
not very much,
A freedom was taken,
and life was such.

It was brittle,
and constricted.
Couldn't beat,
was extracted.

Left behind
an open wound,
festering, swelling
and bleeding.

Pipes were put,
down the pipe
to keep the liquid,
running and flowing.

A warm hand,
glove bound,
picked it up,
began the repair.

Yes, the frozen heart,
was thawing.
Pipes were out,
the wound was healing.

Locked in a cycle,
Of where the heart aches,
with silent, distant and intimate terrors,
Which memory never takes.

A white screen,
Ink filling in,
Whimpering in the distance,
Something deep within.

Something lives on,
Though no more the life,
Worlds beyond,
Legions in strife.

But still, the wheels
Rolled on never to be.
Divided in life,
United memory.

To the person,
Who never was,
Will always be,
Within me