7/27/08 10:28 pm
An appeal composed. A handsome voice, immensely dignified.
His memory serves her well.
Willingly trapped within her fundamental infant nature.
Green walls purple with wind; reverberating white air.
Not hoping for tomorrow; awaiting life as another woman.
Her potential name is now her ticket out; where her budding wants and juvenile needs, Vanilla or Chocolate pudding, once seemed more so promising.
Peach leaves and autumn rain a top; inhaling a heart of gold underneath, exiled from the cold.
Masculinity, sexual desire transpired by heat, an asylum from her fragile state of affairs; a divine creature in memory serves her well.
A pardon for what love seemed to be about has washed ashore; never defining its true condition runs profound within a sea of crimson, collapsing upon her trackless seams.
He awakens her senses, rids her of the leeches, in her pond of insecurity, leaving her body wilted and insensible.
She greets his image in dream, and passionately accepts his invitation: physical, discreet, sexual, and fearless.
She breathes love and all its designation.
The thought of his arms leave her potent and secreting a profusion of lyrical moisture, emotional condensation and objective, sensual prosperity.
Her dream has come true, and his memory serves her.
Delightfully aching with the touch of his thighs, entering estimable states of pure nirvana,
The bare thought of his stature returns her the favor.
A dream only, as she lies aware in wish.
Alive and well.
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