Of which path ought dreams embark…

Beholding the fork of my nourishment?...



Ought they spill heavenly onward…

toward the circle of lust which drives the seclusion of these…

…nether parts…

shrouded in yielding protection?...



…rock...



…inflict a pleasant pain upon my frontal lobe…

a soft laughter over the cerebellum…

parting in lips of reckoning in realization of the inner growth…

…of your tension...



Ohhh…perhaps…



But will they…grasp the inner workings of creation…

…in odd intervals…a new being bring forth?..

or break between repetitions and join no off…

..spring…



…Jesus…mmm…



I’m sinning in a pleasant redundancy…brown skin comforting me…

I own it not, its real personality…

teasing my senses alive, the texture…

perfection in drops of sweat …and saliva…



………………..



…with…

the culmination…

a task…

of…



exhausting…measure..

and…










and…








a drifting desire…........

...........to sleep.