REACHING DEEP INTO OBLIVION
His hands are on mine... and I can see his eyes, as azure as the roaring oceans beyond the vast painted landscape of the inescapable earth.
Yes, his hands are on mine... and I can sense his spirit, as strong and unshakeable as the cherry wood trees lining the narrow historical avenues.
His hands are on mine... offering sparse comfort – but comfort still, from the former pains plaguing my fragile physiology.
There is warmth in them, a different sort... a prelude of what is yet to come – one involving the midnight caress of the virginal moon, pilfering and filtering through the paper-thin shafts of the bay windows... the same windows that protect me from the chilling wind of a sub-zero solstice, and all the cold times ever since I can remember.
There is affection, one that reaches deep into the soul with the sole purpose of a purely emotional attraction, peeling back the mask I've learned to love, making me realise I have much more, need I ask.
There is a promise of passion in them, rivalling the tidal wave of sheer force... a powerful painting of meshed limbs, moving against each other in a dance of primal origin, synchronised with the pleasured thrust of thirsty bodies boisterously yearning for completion.
For a brief moment, there is life. There is what seems to be an instantaneous rush of lightning flowing from my head to the tips of my toes, tickling me with its intended danger – a wake up call.
The sweetly familiar voice... it is calling me.
Then I reach out, and I close my tired eyes, breaking away from the precious touch, and then my fingertips feel the breath of a whispering kiss... soft and too beguiling... bewitching in its innocence.
Then, as soon as eternity starts, the moment of happiness ends.
My eyes are finally open now...and all I can feel is pure disappointment.
I am alone.
ENDE
His hands are on mine... and I can see his eyes, as azure as the roaring oceans beyond the vast painted landscape of the inescapable earth.
Yes, his hands are on mine... and I can sense his spirit, as strong and unshakeable as the cherry wood trees lining the narrow historical avenues.
His hands are on mine... offering sparse comfort – but comfort still, from the former pains plaguing my fragile physiology.
There is warmth in them, a different sort... a prelude of what is yet to come – one involving the midnight caress of the virginal moon, pilfering and filtering through the paper-thin shafts of the bay windows... the same windows that protect me from the chilling wind of a sub-zero solstice, and all the cold times ever since I can remember.
There is affection, one that reaches deep into the soul with the sole purpose of a purely emotional attraction, peeling back the mask I've learned to love, making me realise I have much more, need I ask.
There is a promise of passion in them, rivalling the tidal wave of sheer force... a powerful painting of meshed limbs, moving against each other in a dance of primal origin, synchronised with the pleasured thrust of thirsty bodies boisterously yearning for completion.
For a brief moment, there is life. There is what seems to be an instantaneous rush of lightning flowing from my head to the tips of my toes, tickling me with its intended danger – a wake up call.
The sweetly familiar voice... it is calling me.
Then I reach out, and I close my tired eyes, breaking away from the precious touch, and then my fingertips feel the breath of a whispering kiss... soft and too beguiling... bewitching in its innocence.
Then, as soon as eternity starts, the moment of happiness ends.
My eyes are finally open now...and all I can feel is pure disappointment.
I am alone.
ENDE