Oh to paint a canvas with as well her notions,
to not repeat the past yet carve out new emotions.
Oh to know the land where our soul will soon weigh
the earnings of our human condition as we may.
Oh to know the flower that is her internal demon,
that which only goodness turns the wrath of semen.
Yes, it is that stark,
the reality of our wares,
an animal in the midst,
the peace awaits a hold.
Oh to understand the beauty of aggression’s path
when we the light of one’s passionate embrace hath
Oh to know that silence is an encouragement blessed
upon a delicious seduction of man and woman addressed.
Oh to recognize the procreate nature of our beings
and languish in the sultry odor of our constant doings
We wish to be frenetic,
only to be caustic,
if when we haven’t a clue,
are told to bring love back.
Oh to be the vessel to your delivery as we are told,
the lotions of desire, of sensuality, always to hold.