And you ask me not to spill over…
when my continence breeds this fiery pulse?
You step into this playground of emotional smolder
and view your blistering toes with repulse.
Fingers pass through my drifting limbs, as they
fade away with my dissipating heart; a
force beyond holding with nimble whims,
requiring a firm grip from the start.
The quaintest of quiets, it breathes with ease,
as it rests in the nestles of sweet refuge.
If only its slumber could dream past this tease,
we’d escape the wiling up of its deluge.
No, I am not the sum of past iniquities
dribbled upon the slate of my naivety. I am
but the heartbeat which longs for love’s antiquity,
before fate conspired the ruin of its indemnity.
Mistaken not my willingness to abort
for a chilled and bitter spirit of recluse.
It is love’s domineering weight which retorts,
dictating which bidding hands to refuse.
My rathers would submit these very pores
to consume the deepest achings of your wantings,
but impetuous judgment cannot go ignored,
and the will of fortification comes flaunting.