The wheel has strained my lust,
My texture doused in a barrel of infusion,
Trapped between two florets and woven in their soft puffs
Each, protesting my remaining flesh
And I am only a heart that can rivet a pale:
I thought I could stay for eternity, shimmered between her delicate fingers;
Her bosom is mild
Her stench, fresh and refined with a concoction: citrus, green, dianthus,
heliotrope, sandalwood and the musk of armpits.
It smears everywhere in my house, wardrobes, bathroom.
Her eyes glisten the groping shanties,
Her chocolate skin defies the sun.
Then I met her, an ignition of my throbs
She mirrors a surrogate devotion
Before, I thought them could have never been a copy
But she is the authentic broth, immersed with purity.
She beams a mush of patchouli, coriander, star anise and incense.
Her body, diced in a coke bottle
She walks in beauty, like stars at the fringe.
I thought I could stay in bliss, shimmered between her faint bust;
Never to go back, but anywhere I go, she goes.
But am breathless, astray, adrift the wilds
Which pale should I ferry,
Where should I eddy; the two rills are blotting my shine.
Heads are silencing my pulse
Which heart must I carry
To coo together in the prairie
Must I take a sabbatical and erode into time
I love her first, but her subtle voice towers mine
Then I love her, but her songs negate the holy cooing of the first dove.
Must I be suicidal, maybe I could fetch the gypsy
Whose minute of love will wax the confusion.
I will imbibe the toxic concoction,
I will trade for a sabbatical
And choose to learn how to love you.