9th ☽

Safety wasn’t a brand of quarreling
For it was known that I was of infinite value
Sudden circumstances in the moment
Establishing rare hopes that weren’t previously held
How it was such an inviting risk
Disappointment was the making of fiction
I knew not of catastrophic probabilities
When cherished by such a caring creatures
Around my neck lies an emblem of my sincerity
To hold for multiple eternities

Pass The Tequila But Don't Spill The Passion

I find it to be quite sexy
The rhythm to which your hair swings
When you softly run your fingers through
It is but only a reverie to yearn
To see many happy, shiny faces
With a striking quality such as yours
And to drink of your lips
Within the wake of the moon

Her Neck Screamed One Tune Though Her Thighs Screamed Another

Again I played witness
To the stunning vignette that was her body
All evening the thought to compose words
Materialized from a former canyon of desolation
Merely because I had been swept into the distance
As I am forsaken to ponder
When she’ll become attainable

Eight Track History

I had taken a seat along the sequences of curiosity
When suddenly my mistress dawned
Her eyes alternating in succession
With the pattern that were mine

“Hello” was the word that ejected from her lips
Firecrackers had begun ascending
History was being sculpted before us

But She Looked So Lovely Under The Lights

Each time that I see her
A switch is stimulated within me
So arcane yet freakishly alluring
And like a tiger hunting its prey

I chased her pirouetting shadow ever so enthusiastically
The taste of it quite addicting in a hopelessly romantic sense
Tirelessly becoming the axis on which my beliefs lie

Her Hips Were Like A Motion Picture

Thick like knuckle sized sheets of LSD
Her hips swung just like the doors of my virginity
With great ease I grew aroused by the rhythm
That produced the beat of evolution

How I imagine gently seizing her hand ever so tight
And holding it for only the universe knows how long
Occasionally I ponder on whether or not she knows
The lovely effect that she has on my bones

There Was A Tattoo Of Religion Upon Her Lips

If like a sponge she acquired the ability
To ingest the amour that I have for her
The possibilities of establishing a new religion
Lie concrete and sound as the images
Of her body and mine as one

If ever a chance arose to fix a woman
She’d be just the gash to mend
And the scriptures would be her satin skin