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Crossed out lines etched upon his heart

Plus Kvira

Crossed out lines etched upon his heart

What can one say he was?







I guess you get the point…

Descending down the stairs, what was he to know, who else was to care?

From a whirl to a stop.

From a moment in time to topological infinity.

Where all things bend back on themselves, over and over.

But shall it ever end?

She floated with sensuality, not with the purpose of covering distance.

She haunted not his life, but his very being. He thought of her constantly. He would cry. The apparition would become stronger, not in his eyes, but as blood coursing through his heart.

Maddening loneliness threads a web on his soul when he leaves her. The thread grows tighter when she goes. But when she is there, she is the spider, he is a willing host. Oh, such a glorious death...

Vast areas of sand, the eye can see no oasis. wind blows the sand, into hair, eyes, mouth, nostrils and hair.

There is no defense. Redemption cannot be had. You may not know your skin. Instead endless torture. The soul is whittled away.

She stands in the distance, but forever in the foreground of his mind. Always there. She is always there.

He sees her endlessly. Thinks of her always. He reaches for her, but she disappears. Constantly wishing he had no mind.

Hope flies like a rampaging river. No one could hope to halt its flow, only condemned to watch helplessly as it rages on. If only there was no desire, then perhaps all might be well. But now desire burns in his veins. How he wished to flow through hers.

Bright lips, a shimmer in his eye. A face, full of life. His heart jumps at her beauty.

His arms seek to hold her, caress her. He pirouettes with this apparition about his empty rooms. He feels her body respond, her love.

Her body curves softly. From breast, to stomach to thigh. He travels the path slowly, straying from curve to curve.

She comes to him, passes through him. Fearful at first, a fear overwhelmed by desire. They embark on, not a conquering love, but one of mutual surrender.

The sun warms the bed through soft white curtains. Hardwood floors occupied from an antiques age stand witness over the night before.

Bodies, tied by feelings, of not only the hours before but of....

A basket brimming with sweet fruit

Rain forests drenched in dryness

A populous of funerals of people

They cannot touch.

Night settles halfway down the building

Slowly settling encompassing all

I fear nor dread it

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