Come here, lie beside me, and I will tell you of a story, I have kept til' now, a story of love being born, and silence spoken, only in the wake of it's distruction.
A fever burns constantly from the tips of your fingers to the balls of your feet, how every flash of a scent can crown your head and render you weak, how the thought of its glory can offspring new ideas, muses never before heard or seen, obsessions are now sane, and actions justified, and emotions are unkempted, vulgar, profane.
A future outshines the turmoils of ventures passed, and the though the idea of springs eternal green pastures seem fond and poetic, you find your self ravenously rabbid- turning from a viegan love of hope and kneeling for the pain and desire of a flesh not of your own.
A force you have no choice but to love and hate, an entity with a power that can make you whole, or a hole it leaves agaped, To lie with love is to to free your hands, to shake loose your reason, to bathe in a moon, you feel is only there for you.
original work
by
monika veliz
