Posted in Poetry


Will you be brave and look into my eyes, shapely?
When darkest doe of your eyes, wide enough to swallow the stars

A million shaded truth, not presupposed, but prefixed without harm
Seem to ignite a desire without rage, and a passion without end

How alight and adrift, my words like waterfall
And my mind alike in wanderlust

So it flutters
My mind, it flutters

Now my kinesthetics seem to fail me,
As I can only hear a fluttering of notes
Desperate enough in scale and without harmony
Yet just enough to flutter my senses

And then it asks,
Yes, my mind, it asks;
Is this a cantata or a sonata?
An amalgamation of words without sound,
Or is it the sound of words without song?

Alas, objectivity is out of reach
It merely shapes modalities stringent on faculties

What psychodynamics seeks to cure
Psychosomatics somehow endures

In this instance,
Will you touch me, shapely?



This is my old account.

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