Unfettered, I wonder where she’d go,
Which cloud she would kiss,
Which dream she would chase,
If she’d fly to the Sunset, or the Sunrise.
Shadows play tricks on the ones who look behind,
Reliving tantrums of time that scarred the mind,
Playing in the mud that lay before the crimson fields,
Telling tales that mimic some misshapen lunacy.
Lovers snap their fingers to awaken others from a dream,
Tantric songs play in the unseen mist,
Sounds of ecstasy echo all around but yet,
Those focused on the darkness cannot hear, deafened are they so.
Sweat pours from my anticipating brow,
Chasing butterflies through the snow,
Falling aimlessly through the muck that others leave behind,
Chilled to the bone in the puddles of piss left strewn throughout the field.
I don’t know which way I am going,
The compass unseen still points in her direction,
Lost, yet forging onward on the path my heart screams for me to take,
Found, I wish she’d make this journey easy.
Smile before you kiss me – my prayer,
Tease me with your eyes before you cast me aside – my fear,
Whisper something sweet to me before the silence comes,
For I know my place among the stars, a spec hidden by the darkness.
Heaven plays its tricks on those of us who pray,
Strong, I have no need for such misplaced and sullen waste.
A lone wolf, I hasten passion upon the landscape,
You may sense that there is something coming in the rain.
Nothing, though, moves this wolf like her howls begging in the moonlight.
It pushes me onward, beyond my own perceived limitations,
The body would nearly die for a single embrace,
The soul would not know life if not for knowing her.
But alas, time moves on even if the wolf remains alone,
Graying hair, crusted with the ice of his own experience,
He needs nothing in return,
Not even a passing glance.
Though he loves her so, it is unfettered he’d rather see her,
It is the clouds where she belongs, even as his feet grace the snows of his own destiny,
Both betrothed to the places they have chosen,
Knowing eternity in their moments quicken moans of certain ecstasy.
Stoic as he is, he cannot be burdened by her choices,
The demons he has faced have made him strong beyond his fears,
No sorrow, nor loss of sight, has caused him to stray from his own path,
And so he honors hers with equal ferocity.
Tonight, he may not live to see the Sunrise,
But today, he lives like there may be no end in sight.
He shall forget his mortality to live among some other gods,
And strive for her affection as if she was the very air he breathed.
In the end the story shall be told,
Forgotten shards of broken dreams will no longer be a testimony.
How he lived and found her love shall be recited in the heavens,
How she remembered him shall be the things of lore.
“Surrender,” he once said to her,
A plea of pleas certain to heighten her arousal,
Meant to be nothing but a vow,
She would never need search again.
Did she hear him?
That is a story to be written,
Would she come?
That is a song yet to be sung.
Write they will.
Sing they must.
In Love, they have no other choice.