In truth, I never saw the brightest of days,
they, hidden by sights too vivid, and by sounds, not yet recognized
were just the faintest of waking dreams,
Upon waking, new eyes wince at the brightness
creating cool water to ease the shock and soothe the burn,
Yet that, is the image that lingers, that is the image that
paints, in permanent colors a mural on the minds eye.
In truth, I who have never known the life, undisturbed,
Seek solace in soft errant caresses, in urgent sweet kisses,
in gentle whispers, in dimly lit places.
i look for joy in normality, and taste the deep dark sweetness
of lust's fountain. In converse and in contrast, I seek the thing
that while wanting it, shifts to that, which I need, and not what
In her eyes and in her touch, I search for home.
The Search for Imaginary Magic
1 year ago