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 AUTHOR
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1638
TexturePage 9 of 91    (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41)
To beguile the self unto
elation—what is this deception?

To bedazzle the mind knowingly
—sinking into subliminal vibrations
—what is such isolation?

Spellbound, I sunk into a river of
tears—trespassing the soul of a
woman grieving.

Persuade me to believe and I shall
lean upon thy sincerity—if only
for a fortnight.

Mesmerize me, my love, captivate
my psychic gaze, and embody us in
the furnace of seduction.

Such silent gestures—they speak a
hidden language within a paradoxical
sphere. It is thus difficult to peer into
our subconscious waves.

Ensnare me, my love. Forsake me not
to the viper’s den. Cause sublime beauty
to manifest—otherwise, a life giving
illusion shall effloresce into

disappointment and strife. Thus, wound
not the spirit of amore, but rather,
unbolt thy affections.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1639
Suddenly
Posted: 12/3/2011 8:22:48 PM
Dear Spiritual Paramour,

A piccolo is echoing afar. I have yet to search out its richness. But it echoes unto nearness, webbing my desires in the hope of fruition. Web me unto deepness, my love. Pull me from out of the dreams of rejection. Permit me to see more than illusions. I was once a walking delusion. But have you seen in me, more than rejection. Have you read of my deepness for you? Its texture has increased, notwithstanding, therapeutic practices. My love is genuine. And I cannot shake my belief of pain dangling in the distance. I, nevertheless, have weighed out the spectrum. That is, who dares to test the intensity of unpredictability? I suppose that I am a willing force in this dynamic, scared to feel beyond the boundaries of control, even to feel beyond the capacity of prose and poetry. Walk through the prism of love with me. Read into the shadows. Something deep in you has uttered my name, tugging spiritually at my being. And I do not dare provoke the flame. I, nonetheless, cannot help but to draw nigh. This is a solemn contradiction—the paradox of our existence. But I frightened my noetic friend, while wrestling with the webs of insanity. I pushed, if only to live. I was curious, curious to capture what is considered forbidden. I permitted my perception to become slanted, and through it all your presence stood stalwart. I reckon that the mystic instinct dwells in your person—for the tenderness of unspoken anguish dwells in your person. Forgive me when I trespass. But something between us has linked. Is it more than imagination? Or is it purely noumenon (an object of the mind)? Something so close, such as a piccolo echoing afar, has invaded my person. And I am not certain of how to convey the depth of such truth. Moreover, I hope that I am not forced to live with merely the prosaic element of such spiritual agitation; but rather, I hope to explore the depth of such poetic amore.

I here shall put my soul on the line. My spirit has spoken with me, sharing with me the depth of your concerns, urging me to walk slowly. I, thus, realize that you are not willing to take such a risk that could reverberate and shatter the mirrors of your home. I am therefore somewhat discouraged; but in this regard, I am more than just a fantast—I am a pursuer of more than just a dream, wondering of the depth of our spiritual connection—and please, forgive me for my past poetic infractions, for I fully realize that such matters are delicate, even fragile. A part of me wishes that I could flee from the core of attraction, in all of its textures, for it frightens me to love from a distance. Universal love is different from the love of attraction. One remains tamed, whereas, the other increases in degrees.

“What’s in it for me?” Time should have revealed such as would answer this question. If not, poetry, even prose, infuses the spirit, invigorating the psyche, even enlivening the soul. I, thus, ask that you receive my love, echo no longer afar as does the piccolo; but rather, draw nigh, without fear of losing in any regard. I am here searching out the richness and the depth of what could manifest between us; thus, receive this composition in all sincerity, for I am in need of searching into your eyes.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1640
Ethics and Suppressed Desires...Feel free to Express
Posted: 12/4/2011 2:49:47 PM
Love me. Tap into my flaws and restructure thereupon. Teach me of the motions of love, for I am in need of a life giving force, something bolder than an illusion.

What is it that needles at our spirits? Is it more than mere presence? Have we not read of what is written? Have we not fallen there-into!

In midst a quasi-mass, a trumpet blast of energy pierced through the heart chakra, I stood thus in a sudden trance, yearning for St. Paul’s handkerchief, weeping, as also Jesus wept within the tabernacle of the soul.

She appeared to me during such a dream, enslaving my being by her mere presence. I glorified her within my thoughts, indulging within a delusion.

Oh’ the blessing of such a life giving delusion—such the poetic prose of our sickness, our soul’s incantation.

And my noetic amore, within the arms of her knight, praying that I am free, free to compose within the garden of life—I am dearly free!

Such to endow me with more than seaweed—to give until the spirit aches to give more. Let us weary not over repercussions, but rather, engage our energies unto the aching of bliss.

Doth she have the soul of a mirror—or rather, the soul of a chameleon! We are nevertheless undone, burning spiritually aflame, paying penance in hope of tomorrow.

She is an aloof woman, lingering within my mind, laying siege to my fantasy life. Oh’ how enlove I have become with an image taking form within my imagination. The sickness of my prose alerts me to the possibility of embracing her warmth.

To ponder upon gold, gold must exist. I, thus, ponder upon gold. Shall gold come to me, becomes the question.

Bold and exotic, with the features of a goddess, and the characteristics of a queen, she streams through my subconscious.

I venture to believe that we may meet again—if I am to but dream, absorbed in her essence, suffering from the sickness of such prose.

Instead of love, do we wrestle with seaweed, suffocating the symbol of our amore? But what is the current of our electricity—such to wish, that it was the current of knowing!


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1641
Ethics and Suppressed Desires...Feel free to Express
Posted: 12/4/2011 2:51:15 PM
Scratchmasterw, I thank you for stopping by. And happy holidays to you.
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1642
Texture
Posted: 12/4/2011 4:18:22 PM
(Each dredlocke sheds tears, while nevertheless the heart is aglow, tiptoeing about stingrays.)

Here my love, here are a dozen roses for the panic inside—and the sheerness of such passionate panic. As with an apparition, we can only vibrate to the frequency of such passion. Ignore our enlightenment, otherwise, become entangled, and even condemned to trek upon sulfurous grounds. Oh’ how such suffering is unto such sweetness, burning through sinews covering the heart, uplifting the spirit unto tremors and chills. What was the stimulus? Was it more than a mere epiphany? Was it destiny speaking within? My precious keepsake, is he not more than a friend, coloring my days in malaise and anger! Is he not thy venom—athirst for poison! Knot me not, my love, as we rejuvenate spiritually, suppressing the magnetism of fate—and he shall love thee more!—for I see a precious heirloom, gripping a talisman, praying for intercession, asearch for confirmation. But I cannot approach in the flesh. Rather, I shall approach in the spirit, warding off negative vibrations. My precious heirloom, shed a river, alone, deep within the psyche—let none touch, in hope of exploiting thy anguish—for it peaked. My precious heirloom, thy panacea is within the spirit—channel and be free.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1643
Texture
Posted: 12/4/2011 5:06:26 PM
The fragrance of a woman’s skin intoxicates the soul, despite the evanescence thereof. Love is often brief, yet, a psychic web—what is this contradiction? Place a noose about my heart, love, that I may symbolize and voyage with thee through the sickness of such prose.

Swept into an electrical current, our souls crocheted a quilt together, designed within the pith of panic. Who is the architect of such panic? Moreover, do we not desire love and the madness thereof? Indeed, love is our number one challenge.

Inscribe thy voiceprint upon the inner compass of my being—my Ba, my Ka—that I may unscramble my precious koan.

Gazing into a chandelier, I felt ripe for love and the turbulence thereof. But the intensity of yearning for love, does it not drive the soul, baptizing the heart of divinity, soaring the spirit into the sphere of Bethany.

Read into our cannon time-and-again. Light a candlestick for the brevity therein. Was I not driven for us—without want of gratification! And still, I carry our selfsame circuit, meditating in tongues, spiritually walking the grounds of cavalry.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1644
Texture
Posted: 12/4/2011 8:18:18 PM
May I taste the ambrosia of thy matrix—man’s ultimate antidote. Or is it the case that I have behaved in a crass manner—entirely too wild to love—entirely too wild to touch. Let not malaise settle within us, for we are living the nature of poetry. Yet, our souls are lustrous shrines mourning, even lamenting our disconnection; but in truth, the eyes of the spirit are vigil, for our love is our deepness. Unlatch the linchpin. Become our anchor, even our stronghold, as we dance delicately through the flames of existence. Unbolt our potential. Teach me of thy world. In essence, bless me with the quintessence of thy being.

Whet for love, are we not also pensive—fantasizing, awaiting the assertion of love! my electrical amore, my songbird is eager to serenade that in which I do not understand—for the core of self is enflamed; but I beg, my love, please do not ensnare me, but rather, lose consciousness, while emotionally detached, crawling into my riven soul.

Delude my senses, love—for who is of thy caliber!—an electrical rainstorm, leaving me to meditate upon a false vision—this is poetry!


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1645
Texture
Posted: 12/5/2011 10:47:31 AM
A genuine smile
A genuine nod
Why such a grimace!
I am assuredly naïve,
For the moon has
Illuminated my heart
And still, I retreat into
Mindcaves. How does
One tame a cobra and
The venom therein?
And a chameleon is
Ever changing colors,
Depending upon the hue
Of sunrise. Spirit of my
Spirit, I am running from
Myself, somewhat
Confused, hiding from
My illusions, deathly
Afraid of my delusions.
I am too a delicate
Force, carrying a spider,
Which has webbed my
Soul. Would a tryst
Satiate us?—removing
The thirst for satiation.
I am assuredly naïve,
Given a sign to maintain
My defenses, for
Something therein is
Vicious—or have I
Found what I have
Sought, asearch for a
Stronghold.



Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1646
Texture
Posted: 12/5/2011 10:52:16 AM
Let us make love.
Take the lead.
Dig into my being
Until tears begin to
Trickle into my dreds.
Cause our spirits to drift.
Become the mirror before
My eyes. Fall apart
Within my arms. Tell
Me that the days are
Shortening. Pure and
Subtle, fill our hearts with
Undulations of love—while
Remaining emotionally
Detached. Captivate my
Mind. Drag me out of the
Mindcave of constant prayer.
Astride, introduce me to
Divinity.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1647
Texture
Posted: 12/5/2011 11:13:32 AM
I am out of my league,
asearch for the morning star.
Yet, within, love has a sacred
design. Moreover, love is more
than words, as she is more than
art. And as Lazarus, I wish to
come forth out of the cave, but
life is a complicated dream.
Thus, my thoughts are beclouded,
eclipsed by desires, desires that
may seem askew. She caused
my heart to leap, and acknowledged
her powers. She did such on several
occasions. I merely observed a
member of divinity quoting me lines
of my prose. She would at times
become as if indignant. Why, would
then become the muse. Efface my
doubts, my dearest koan. Provide me
with more than a dream. Bless me
with access to thy temple. May I enter,
and be exposed to divinity!


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1648
Texture
Posted: 12/5/2011 1:57:47 PM
Mesmerize something deep in me.
Write me a love letter. Play tricks
with my heart. Seduce me time
-and-again. Engrave thy symbol
upon the oak tree roots of my soul.
Catch me spellbound and react as
a wild lioness. Confront the fantast
in me. Become ashamed of thy
passions for me, while driving me
insane. Provoke me to compose
until my hand aches. Drain me until
I shed a sea of sorrow. My tender
cobweb, leave me haggard and
crestfallen—grant me no mercy. As
Abner, I shall stand stalwart as a
warrior, negotiating incessantly for
thy affections; thus, remain distant
and aloof, astride the temple of
affliction—in honor of the sickness
of such prose.

It is not a lovelock—it is pure
deception. Who dares to confront an
actress? Nevertheless, it is I, the
fantast, a dreamer of dreams,
persuading divinity to speak on my
behalf. Is it all an error!—to flirt
spiritually, unto panic, and even
tremors. Dive into the reservoir of
consciousness; hypnotize thy soul
as I compose dreamy-eyed,
confronting our nightmare. Love
me not, and I shall love thee despite
the coming of our last days.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1649
Texture
Posted: 12/6/2011 11:30:29 AM
Quench my thirst with gravel
and vinegar, and laugh hysterically
as I fawn and sigh.

Romance is slowly giving up
the ghost—forevermore she shall
love another, despite a tryst here
and there.

By way of undulations is the
appearance of promise. But our
nightingale has yet to sing.

Aflame, we take refuge in the
spirit, only for infatuation to
trespass, invading our cave.

Exile me, my love. Steadfastly,
love another, for trouble shall
befall us, even heartache.

Our souls have become a banquet
of warfare. Oh’ how we pine
for Bethlehem.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1650
Texture
Posted: 12/6/2011 12:49:06 PM
Gnaw upon my neck. Beg me
to go deeper. Wrestle with me
as we tug and yelp unto ecstasy
and satiation. Let us then shed
tears, for we must disentangle.

Disdain me silently, for I have
yet to speak of love,
exclusivity and promise.

Through stormy weather, deceive
my subconscious mind. In a low
tone, vow that you love me.

Let us knot as distant lovers, afraid
of what tomorrow may bring
—afraid that we must rest at home.

Unlock the locket. Permit me to
peer therein—nevertheless,
deny soundly that I have ever lived.



Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1651
Texture
Posted: 12/6/2011 1:34:47 PM
Counsel me, my fluorescent muse.
Glean my soul of the remnants
of trials and tribulations. Pull out
the teraphim and question the
heartbeat of love.

Feign for thy lovers, but fall apart
in my presence. Indeed, beguile
the members of thy pantheon,
chaining them to illusions, while
nevertheless, we pursue the
manifestation of visions—and
the sun has risen.

Permit the gut of the soul to
speak of love, ever nearing the
spirit. Trespass my inward
kingdom, and remove the
anchor of my inward plight.

In truth, tarry for a short while,
rejuvenate, and then return to
thy pantheon.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1652
Texture
Posted: 12/6/2011 1:54:02 PM
The smile of sadness represents the powers of one’s soul.

She is so alive for me,
dripping tears unto ponds
somewhere deep within
my personality.
Our pain is graphic
—how do we heal, my love?

She is a candid relic,
saving me from drowning
in a world of masquerades.
I must rebuke illusions,
rethink my situation
and cleave to my relic.

She has given me more
than seaweed, she has given
me the anguish of her love
—perishing steadily in degrees
—resurrecting in my spirit.

Sit at the violin of my heart,
love. Manipulate the mantra of
my stability, for thou art my
indelible soul-print.

She is more than signs and
symbols. She is the current of
our lifespan—the very reason
I return, unscathed.



Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1653
Suddenly
Posted: 12/6/2011 1:59:49 PM
I was overly quixotic,
clamped in the jaws
of transcendental attraction,
as if an oracle were
whispering in my ear. I
possessed a softness for
my noetic friend, especially
in the spirit. Oh’ my angelic
friend, what have we become!
The baptism of mystic
vibrations has kept us in
communication—are our souls
suffocating silently, my noetic
friend? I ask in earnest—
without a ploy attached thereto.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1654
Texture
Posted: 12/6/2011 2:15:16 PM
My deadly koan, enlighten my
heart by way of thunderbolts
—strike through my soul.
Infuse me with afflatus. Feel
our energy. Distinguish it
from the energy of thy lovers.
Indeed, love me selfishly.

As Sade, my heart is drained,
in need of revitalization, prior
to becoming fully detached
and damned.

My mystique butterfly, permit
me entrance into the sanctum
of thy soul, and I shall plant
love therein—for I have fallen
into thy volcano, somewhat lost,
in need of thy guidance.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1655
Texture
Posted: 12/6/2011 4:55:34 PM
She is a magical mare
frustrating my calm
disposition, trespassing
the wheel of my secrets.
Entangle us not. Rather
tend to thy lovers, for my
days are fraught with misery,
and my nights are fraught
with malaise. Why suffer
such a person? Look into
the vat of my prose. My
mind sees things differently.
I am a stargazer, drinking
from the wellspring of eclectic
beliefs, subject to respond to
sublime frequencies,
disappearing for months at a
time, torn between faces.
Why suffer such a person?
I am of more substance than
kitsch, thus, I am more than
one’s whimsical fancy.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1656
Texture
Posted: 12/6/2011 4:57:50 PM
I need and desire more than
a fable, or a drifting cloud of
fear and trepidation. Let us
not devastate our souls. Let
us not intentionally scar our
spirits—lest pain is the key to
eternity.

If so be it, love with me. Our
eyes are too heavy to deny the
heartbeat of amore. Thus,
love with me.

I am no longer afflicted with
aphasia—I speak—despite the
tremors—my prophetic love.

Whelm me with thy presence.
Stare into my eyes for confirmation
—the conformation of love.
Fasten thy person to my soul.

In our honor, I shall clean out
the blackdamp, freeing my
psyche for the entrance of my
refined essence—for

thou art my goddess—believe
and be free. Ye possess the heart
of an angelic being. Thy beauty is
therefore radiant.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1657
Texture
Posted: 12/6/2011 6:49:32 PM
Eagerness overtook me,
as insanity encompassed
me. My words poured forth
with little consideration of reality.
I was selfish, taking for granted
all that she has done to establish
herself and capture her dreams.
My approach was haphazard, for
I was locked in the graphics of
passion, prose, and sudden
attraction. Every thought of her
was segue to amore. Something
in the atmosphere set me aflame
—something mystic in texture,
even the bondage of sadness. A
subtle, yet, intrusive circuit is still
upon me. It causes me to believe
that something is present
—something of more substance
than illusions—something that
could effloresce unto divine love.
However, what I feel, could in sum,
add up to genuine concern, even
concern for the likeness of its
reflection. Whatsoever may be the
reality, I, here, must confess, that I
cannot evade the circuit of love as
it motions through me. Nevertheless,
as I compose, I will stir clear of
drifting too far into the realm of
unreality. In essence, I respect what
you represent—and I apologize for
stirring up mixed emotions.
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1658
Texture
Posted: 12/6/2011 7:15:17 PM
She is equipped with the prowess
of a geisha, thus, wolves lurk nigh
—wishing to hold her attention.

And I, the fantast, sit aside the
psychic creek of illusions,
imagining the improbable.

But love has seeped into my heart.
I am certainly a contradiction,
enlove with the tender presence of
anguish.

How is it that we bond with
strangers?—such strangers of our
heart’s reflection.

There are so many pleats of
existence—so many frequencies to
dwell therein—that my eyes swell
with tears.

Love, do love. Love with all thy
might, soul and spirit.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1659
Texture
Posted: 12/9/2011 2:04:15 PM
Swept away from myself,
consumed with us, through
a long process of travail,
electrical waves, and agony,
a circuit has captured us,
unbolting the lockets of
twain koans.

Here is a spiritual thunderbolt,
my spiritual mystery—it is a
symbol of our future together
—an underground fortress.

Shall I serenade gloom, while
our eyes drain into a pool of
ambiguity, hoping for love!

Am I willing to wrestle with
thoughts, within the heart of a
seductress, draped in the
shroud of invisibility!

We are dearly riven souls,
journeying the passageway of
our parent’s baggage. We are
thus a mess inside, subject to
mystic episodes, searching to
become whole, even complete.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1660
Texture
Posted: 12/9/2011 2:57:49 PM
Within my imagination, I see footprints, a set of two. Chasten me if I have imagined in vain—imagining unto our sore displeasure. Nevertheless, grant me mercy, for I have seen the goddess in thee. Thus, I am sore inside, sore, for we shall never love—or have I written in haste, unaware of the depth of our fate!

While present, vexation seized me; while nonetheless, she played the seductress. I was at once captivated, even eager to dwell in her presence—pretending that the days were short.

She touched my soul, by way of gestures and thunderbolts to the heart. For the sake of dreams, I maintained aloof, distant, and even callous at times. But when I witnessed the truth, I wanted to hold her in my arms, for I know the pangs of separation.

Weary me, my love, for in the spirit, I am groaning for thy affections, whet to converse unto divine union—am I capable, becomes the question.

Upon the couch, I am certain that tears have trickled into the upholstery. I wish that I were there to wipe the tears away. I, nevertheless, am always present in the spirit, albeit, my behavior often specified to the contrary.

Let us swim together in the pool of passions. Let us shed tears therein as we love unto satiation and despair, for grief is certain to besiege us—for forevermore it grows near.

Wax with me unto compassion, even a loving disposition, something unique from the voiceprint of weeping—for thou art heavy within my soul.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1661
Texture
Posted: 12/9/2011 4:22:18 PM
My cosmic ray, how I long to hold thee within my arms. Indeed, I am assuredly a dreamer of dreams, wishing upon a vision held as sacred within my mind. Are we not colored in the light of uncertainty, drifting upon a dream, unseen by the masses? Yet, here we dwell, phantoms, on the run from phantoms.

Hertz are racing through my person as I compose of a phantom, out of touch with mutual dispositions. Should I ask? Should I ask of whether or not thou lovest me? The thought comes across as bold and brilliant.

My incandescent joy, do not permit me to throw heaven away; but rather, compel me to open up the gates of the New Jerusalem in thy honor.

Our motion has been far from linear, thus, it is difficult to outline the depth of our flirtation.

Have I misknown thee, whet to touch thy soul, even whet to seduce the image of par excellence! I am uncertain. But I am steady to wish upon a prayer—prayers of divinity.

Attraction has become erumpent, exploding upon visual contact—how shall we break free, if we wish to dare!

Thou art an artifact, one of significant value, and I have stumbled upon thee, unaware of how to address thee—please, my hidden love, guide me through the maze of thy heart.

Consider me in the lesser, merely a found object, what shall thou do with me. I imagine something grand, even celestial in texture—have I drifted too far?

Within the garth of infinity, I see a golden star, misperceived by the world, yet, vividly clear within my perception. Will thou love me for this reason, for being the only one to see gold within thy eyes?

Invite me to enter the house of heaven, that I may drown therein, satiated by the divine. Have I here asked for more than God has—in truth, have I not asked for what thou are willing to give!

My sibylline oracle, prophesy to me the depth of our attraction—make clear to me the vision, for I am stranded at the rock of never, lest thou clarify our dimensions.

Kingdoms have perished for such a love as that that I seek. Thus, it is incumbent upon thee to love me straightway, or else, put my hopes for love to rest.

Bless me, even when entering Hades. Love my riven soul, for ambiguity is lurking nigh.


Naive
 NaiveAndWitty
Joined: 1/23/2010
Msg: 1662
Texture
Posted: 12/11/2011 11:19:44 AM
Spirit of my spirit, guide us
through the labyrinthine of
our hearts; infuse us with the
vibration of alchemic waves;
and fasten thy psyche to our
souls. But know that we desire
more than a fable, webbed in
the heartbeat of a tryst. We
desire mania stemming from
mantic elation, even loyalties
and betrayals.

My tantalizing vibration,
whelm me in sheer attraction,
while wheedling me through
sheer passion. Unlock the us,
which wonders beneath the
soul of the spirit. Indeed,
come to life, and reject the
fear of uncertainty.

I am dearly a fantast, traipsing
the holy grounds of a daymare,
fraught with energy, overloaded
with spirit, tugging upon the
strings of my heart’s reflection.
Thus, give a sign, distinct and
blind, that we may reap from the
harvest of electrical attraction.
Let us telepathically make love,
while saturating our spirits in the
thickets of love aching bliss.


Naive
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