Singularly Drifting Speck of Pollen
When you're looking for a slime instead of a butterfly,
You know something's right;
Right where the wrong is -
What you expected isn't there,
Yet somehow you're still stuck in what isn't;
Wandering endlessly in what could be,
And what is and what was -
without ever being.
How could you learn to let go?
Cliché words are forever repeated,
Yet forever misunderstood;
And all weights are misinterpreted in the verbal diarreah of repetition.
So break the circle and trace onwards!
Not like a path but like an estuary,
Filled with dancing boats,
Singing fish and flamboyant sailors,
- Ununcumbered.
Temptation, the funny mistress;
Queen of no evil, but merely advocate of desire.
A simple tug of the soul is worth all sexual relief.
Or is it really?
The flowers on your dress,
And the sun in your eyes,
Are but the symptoms of that longing,
- Devouring me.
One which cannot be truly envisionned,
Despite the sinking hole of love that is my soul.
The bitch has puppies,
And one of them loves a squirrel,
Poor ball of fur doomed,
To perpetual denial.
But the kids are mine!
- For I have nothing left of my own,
Despite all willingness coming from the fellow bear,
A salmon shall die painfully of old age.
So does the tale of an unwelcomed beetle,
Reaches the heights of emotional freedom.
Given in all and good faith of its mandibles,
Will my appendice sadly never rest,
In between your two nipples.
Like a nurturing lake filled with water-lilies,
I long to be either the water, or the trees;
Of this madness bush of a mess that your forest life is,
Blocking the sight ahead and leaving us,
Not only stark naked but pleasurably aware.
I wish for so many things with you:
Boredom by a river,
Anger in the bedroom,
Cravings at unexpected times and,
Total space for discovery.
No story is the same,
At least not around the mountain;
And may the clouds bare witness,
That my thoughts, body and mind,
Are yours to take and burn away;
To a wind so calm that my ashes will,
Simply hover and revolve around your peak.
A peak so high I could diverge and wander around until I perish.
A distance of compassion,
Barely high enough compared to the fantasy of taking your life by storm.
A real coup d'état,
Lovingly and machiavellicly orchestrated,
By yours thruthful,
The singularly drifting pollen speck of a daisy.
Let go, once again;
And may you please desire an answer,
To the question of love;
Thus giving yourself in,
And allowing a mere mortal
To attain a certain divinity.
Hold me in the crest of purity of your curls,
Which are already craddling my credulous ,
Blossoming being of an ash tree.
No more of a whole can this love truly be,
Your entities and mine, shapingly disforming,
All pre-conceived ideologies.
May love forever triumph,
And if not,
May it be the adventure that tires you out,
In any case,
Let it be.
You know something's right;
Right where the wrong is -
What you expected isn't there,
Yet somehow you're still stuck in what isn't;
Wandering endlessly in what could be,
And what is and what was -
without ever being.
How could you learn to let go?
Cliché words are forever repeated,
Yet forever misunderstood;
And all weights are misinterpreted in the verbal diarreah of repetition.
So break the circle and trace onwards!
Not like a path but like an estuary,
Filled with dancing boats,
Singing fish and flamboyant sailors,
- Ununcumbered.
Temptation, the funny mistress;
Queen of no evil, but merely advocate of desire.
A simple tug of the soul is worth all sexual relief.
Or is it really?
The flowers on your dress,
And the sun in your eyes,
Are but the symptoms of that longing,
- Devouring me.
One which cannot be truly envisionned,
Despite the sinking hole of love that is my soul.
The bitch has puppies,
And one of them loves a squirrel,
Poor ball of fur doomed,
To perpetual denial.
But the kids are mine!
- For I have nothing left of my own,
Despite all willingness coming from the fellow bear,
A salmon shall die painfully of old age.
So does the tale of an unwelcomed beetle,
Reaches the heights of emotional freedom.
Given in all and good faith of its mandibles,
Will my appendice sadly never rest,
In between your two nipples.
Like a nurturing lake filled with water-lilies,
I long to be either the water, or the trees;
Of this madness bush of a mess that your forest life is,
Blocking the sight ahead and leaving us,
Not only stark naked but pleasurably aware.
I wish for so many things with you:
Boredom by a river,
Anger in the bedroom,
Cravings at unexpected times and,
Total space for discovery.
No story is the same,
At least not around the mountain;
And may the clouds bare witness,
That my thoughts, body and mind,
Are yours to take and burn away;
To a wind so calm that my ashes will,
Simply hover and revolve around your peak.
A peak so high I could diverge and wander around until I perish.
A distance of compassion,
Barely high enough compared to the fantasy of taking your life by storm.
A real coup d'état,
Lovingly and machiavellicly orchestrated,
By yours thruthful,
The singularly drifting pollen speck of a daisy.
Let go, once again;
And may you please desire an answer,
To the question of love;
Thus giving yourself in,
And allowing a mere mortal
To attain a certain divinity.
Hold me in the crest of purity of your curls,
Which are already craddling my credulous ,
Blossoming being of an ash tree.
No more of a whole can this love truly be,
Your entities and mine, shapingly disforming,
All pre-conceived ideologies.
May love forever triumph,
And if not,
May it be the adventure that tires you out,
In any case,
Let it be.