Feel
Can you feel it,
the roiling hot flow of the spastic lights bleeding from the die cut emeralds,
the ephemeral wistfullness drawn close about the ivory white shoulders,
and the metallic flash of half promised pleasures wrapped about the serpentine coils of dark desire?
Will you feel it,
and give completely of inner passions blended with veiled candy coated facades,
glimmering gossamer hopes and volcanic explosions of velvet sensuality?
Do you feel it,
a heady adrenaline rush of technocratic sensibilities,
ground in the ancient dust of past joys,
elevated to new exuberant happiness by the vibrating resonance of uncertain futures,
and hedonistic pasts suspended in a static society bound by realism?
Are you feeling it,
a loss of burdening stress and post apocolyptic aggression,
stabbing at the hearts of desecrated plastic altars,
strewn around the conjugal bed of satiated beasts in the quiet sylvan woodland copse?
Feel it.
Feel each novel idea unfold and embrace your dark fancies,
delighting to no end the watchful glass gargoyles,
perched upon the guiltless ignominy of your conscience.
As the cold cruel world shatters,
upon the anvil of romantic notions,
implore do thy gentle caressers,
wash clean with the crystalline river water of limitless freedom,
and unhindered emotion
