Endless Sky – An Intimate Encounter –

“I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame.” – Edgar Allan Poe, The Black Cat 
shemakesdirty-wordssoundpretty
I lit the coals with yearning, 
deeper than times sand.
I stoke them with nature’s trinkets
Mischievous I take yourhand.
Tender violence my guide
Bringing you to passions door
The flames burn hot and long
We consummate the lore 
Fighting to feel not wanting to resist
Together in universal rhythm we tread 
Heat of friction driving your desire
Caught in throes, an endless sky our bed 
Tied with bonds of forbidden
Bringing creation to savor the burst,
I find you my sweet fragrance
Satiated with passions thirst.  
Scarlet silk creates your hidden visage
Tide of lust breaking ground in blurs
Flamed tongues burn hot and long
Embracing you a yearning stirs 
Air controlled by a strangled grip
Crashing through passions door
Leaving you shaking in pleasure
Gliding on weakened wings we soar
Pain creates a direction to edges new
When again on those heights we tread 
Let the torrid heat drive our desire high
Caught in throes, an endless sky our bed05152013

Related post: Holy Sanctum
Also published in Broowaha Magazine
First published in Opinionsofeye.com01262012 

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The Sound of Sirens

 “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” ― Edgar Allan Poe
heatherwanderer
I woke with a sweat drenched pillow, the dreams that enthralled me were just out of reach but I could struggle and recall them if I didn’t hesitant any longer and with that thought, I pulled back the sounds of voices, calling like the fine wind and string instruments of lyre and lute. The voices were right, wisdom echoed in their cadence as I found my ship drawn inextricably to their haunting direction. Have you ever smelled perfume? Not the cheap whorish variety that smelled like cotton candy but a subtle scent that lingered long after she left the room? That’s how her voice seemed, a wafting fragrance that captivated both mind and body and caused me to drift aimless but not so misdirected as one lost, for my wanderings found their home in her arms. Ok, now that I wrangled my dreams from their abyss, I can take my sweat soaked bedding and snap open a beer that waited for me in the icy bottom of the cooler. Simple pleasures, intense dreams, cold beer, what more could a man want from chasing the pleasures of his Queen? I could go on but would you be interested in the musings of one who gave his ear in desperation of love, or one who wrote under the influence of acid and heroin? If not for leisure, philosophy would find no fertile ground. How can you think when your body is burdened with heat, sweat and fatigue? Yet, as I grabbed the sweaty pillow, I was lying down, sleeping, and still I sweated with what? Passion? Work? What trick of nature is this? I’m still and yet my dreams bring labor, enough work to leave me exhausted. Perhaps I actually live a life beyond the awakened drudgery of normalcy? Society feels no compassion for the sweat obtained through dreams, and yet, that’s were the miracles of living are brought to a vivid reality. Yes, my thoughts are work, yes, that’s my job, and yes, from it I am weary and sweaty. I’m off to work again, don’t look for me on the street, my tasks take me to roads never seen, and I dance with voices never heard.