innocent obsessions

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A slight spectrum blue of the late summer evening, That still, breezes rendered eyes tear-rimmed. It was a wonder then Why the modern old diners never lit a light As to capture the atmosphere, The transparent mood of tall glass walls. I nestled under the blinking dim corner, Closely lived the book, And smirking privately at my own sweet itch, But always stopped, Like while standing in the library, Flushed with the erotic book, Then fantasies brought to a sudden end By too quick a flash from one's intruding eyes. I never allowed the moment to pass, Even without instrument, I bit my fingertip to jot down my amorous verse Of a feeling never repeated, Triggered or set by the skyline solitude. With closed eyes, I stared at the flame And predicted the taste of your kiss, The tension at my chest, The change in my faith. Odd, that, in the dusk of desire, I created your presence at my table, Watching you write my story. My smile still lingered between here and there, Walking the darkness, Letting the wind seep through almost sexually. Embracing their caress, Moistening my lips with every thought, In love with everything that's you. Stalking the source -the sandy waters Granted me the sheer instinct, Bathed by wild warmth of candle light, And stripped down to my natural clothes, Wrote the confessions never seen of the little girl. Though would anyone probe such complex foundations, The growth outside the orthodox Or the blind passion that binds? The stage was torn, And I am ready to fall unhindered, Vulnerable without remorse. I am to flee, impulsive, my contract future And willed to death welcomed by living to my fullest fire.

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