Lost delights of mine, leave me not in unknown ways And all of our dandled days in my fortune’s hand Winder cold wails the wrong of death delays When cold wind blows into my desert sands She has turned within
Alone and unwanted. Unnecessary and useless. Unable to satisfy. In need of replacing. The heat of the moment. Now died down. Left unfeeling. Mind still racing. A touch once hot. The passion now gone. No longer needed. No more devoured.
We who are born in our minuscule cradle in the cosmos see monsters. We see monsters in our cradle having been born with us. We see monsters coming at us from below. We see monsters in the great beyond. We
Sometimes, I just want to fly away and sit by a coast dotted with tiny creeks and gaze at the pebbles sleeping peacefully at the bottom of the stream while drenching my feet in water as pure as an infant.