There it is, just one touch feels golden rivers
fills me with a sense of the bewildered spirit
rippling through waters of longing, lust, love

it is the daily zest of those fated with the
lucid dream of passions, who live in the filth
and grime of the day with a paradoxal joy:
feed and thrive on both and yearn to translate

it into a song
a dirty little melody
so sweet and sad any ear would beg
for more, dropping anchors deep into the heart

It is taste of the many hues of pain that
allows a grain of saccharine sweet kiss
feel like a junkies last dance, a soft
wet tongue running along the inside of
a plump lip raw

Is it is the detachment, the length of time that zings through my greens and blues with orange pops and pink sparks
the whites of the eyes, the holding of breath
wanting nothing more that to seize or be seized
the endless conquest,top of the hill, waving of flag
s’il vous plaît
s’il vous plaît
s’il vous plaît