--By junior L.
The abyss of joy was the trench for my sin's glory,
A smile for the wicked beauty I have witnessed,
A song for the melody that brought the grime of my despair,
Reach for my hands so you may avoid the dark,
Within the branch of hatred,
Shall I then, be consumed by my sexuality?
After all, I am slipping,
Desperation was at my every turn,
After all I am slipping,
I felt the dry feeble life of my mistakes sparring with the destiny of my love,
I won't answer if slipping is comfortable,
I do fancy the idea of melting into the darkness from the light of my pure heart,
My pure beautiful heart,
So, to understand the hounds that wish to eat at my softness's mercy,
Spoken like the king of trickery,
With aces of torment up his dreaded sleeves,
Always scheming the plot to overtake my desire to fill my heart with beauty and sensuality,
Slip my dear,
Slip into the smell of the morning grass,
The birds chirping as if they own your morning breath,
And so, to welcome the sun rise is to give way to the rivers consuming you,
And there again,
relentlessly,
I am slipping.
Slipping into the dreams of my grace.
Namaste.
Amen.