On crumpled pages a dying memory
By my unmade bed inked poems unsatisfied
a sadistic kookaburra inflicts me with distant stabs of loneliness
recalling gentle whispers camouflaged and unspoken
future visions.
Showering desire of silk organza
embraced lovingly
slipping deep within
a throbbing clock pulsing the passing
of body and soul yet to be realized.
Words matter my love!
Creative words that bind and gel
unrealized passions
grasping to hear magical intonations
of warm love.
Aching, l am fearful of the cold
Each dying sun, cold and uncertain,
call forth passionate desires
drenched lustful and wet
of a future still unrealised.
I stare deeply into the undrunk espresso
Addictive, dark and deeply unsatisfied.
Haunted by divisive forces beyond us
I seek meaning in the horizon
that darkens the ocean between us.
Make haste, my soul
All I want is you.
-opus 125
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