Mes pleurs que ta voix parle.

Come to me, 

sweet fear. 

I taste the sugar 

of last night's 

wine from your lustful mouth.

Oh, how I savour that 

memory of you, 

dressed in nothing 

but my watchful eye, 

as I bathe in my own 

validated self and 

personal promise. 

What a pleasure and a suffering

is the flame of an encounter, 

and how I love the burn.

The Beauty that You're After

All I want is 

open fields,

open fields, 

open fields.

Quick.

This voice is someone

else's motivation. I will start

reading into the potential

of the miracle that is 

silence. I will give an ear to

the momentum of the present, 

keeping one ear on the door 

of hope. You know the one, 

that barrier that sparkles, numbing 

all your fears by the power of 

distraction, giving you ideas 

that ruin your life. Is it time 

that you wait on? Because I've 

never recieved a payment for my 

idleness.