Her voice stirs. Inside of him, ever cooing crimson words. Where ancient lips speaks to him, and blazing eyes remembers her. This silent song it sips. And embers warming reminisce. Nay estrange, her ardor kneads the aches of him. A thousand times of five, through light of day and dark of night, ere she has been with he. And why? To bleed their fickle forgeries. So truth becomes their novel seed. Hear near abreast her wanting ear, he chirps like a morning bird. Then bares her breast. Where his longing lips finds the rest, and listens to her purrs.

This their kiss their legacy. As cloth of wont, she knits from spools of thread of lovers knots. There lives the sounds of sins on treaded spoor of Evers din. And in concert roles…eons roll, and around the sun they play. Some are regal and some are slaves. Here he rules an empire; it sinks beneath the sea. There she is a vampire; she drains his arteries. Two cloths woven engaging time; they always find their seam. This mistress violin. Now draws a scalding splash with him to soak their bathing purge. And here he finds her nether moon, while he listens to her purrs.

Chambers flood of lovers blood to pump the poise of time. Free vagaries embrace do thee, to find the other’s eyes. Then scratch the itch of wickedness that harbors just beneath. Sparks divine their inner meld where pools their lake of thee. Buoying him does she. His virile vile makes angels snarl; but still, she licks his love you see. Torn asunder, through calm then thunder, she finds him once again. And so converge. And deeper yet he explores her depths, while he listens to her purrs.

The air is wealthy where she is; so, he inhales…all her in. And in his fevered fervor’s room, he feels wild roses bloom. While whirligigs dance on placid ponds to remind them of their lovers song. Nature never forgets. This laugh that kisses their harrow path, trickles down from eras past, always builds their best. Then, through life’s hooks and turns it’s known: That want for nothing; yields an abundance of; equals growth. Yes, the cosmos fire sometimes burns! But this he will always know: That his contented balm always comes, from listening to her purrs.

Randy Quickfall ღƪ(ˆ◡ˆ)ʃ ☼

Advertisements