Pink


I have borne the burden of a blind man: anger
Angst that was born of an ailing mind
I have lived my life to the same somber tune
Imbibing sorrow on the isle of doom
Faith has built nations yet hate brings me naught
Angered by the tune of my own predilections
Men have moved mountains on conditions of doubt
Yet my sword lay stagnant at sight of err
To what do I owe as a source of happiness?
The shanty of the shameless compels my mind
I am drunk to the spell of pleasure
There is darkness abound, and noise there is not
A deluge ensues, and the mind obeys
A monsoon of lust begins its tirade
My hand, compelled to confess these thoughts
In a ritual of love that serves none but I
Saffron seas and crumbling skies
Conceive an image of bliss and I
Curse my loins that twinge and rasp
A den of desire - Coiling asps
So what is envisioned in tantalizing blaze?
A barren shoulder, hair strewn awry
Clenching and cooing, her pigment and down
Caresses and whispers form sensual vows
The wave has arrived like rolling thunder
My pink fantasy now torn asunder

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