Thursday, August 19, 2004

I want to cleave the shadows that film your eyes, that you may see this broken man healing. There is an autumn flowing from your fingers as they touch, and a storm coursing through your embrace. It lifts me, your autumn storm. It lifts us, far from the deluge, with burdens shed in ochre and auburn and gold.

As this moment begins, we behold the universe as it weeps. Let stars trickle from their nebula and let them cleanse us. Let me catch them in my hands and smooth them over your lips, and let me know in one kiss how hot they burn. Let me know in another the words that take shape, and the places on your skin where they need to be whispered. With you, this man wants to be smoldered.

With you, this man wants to seethe.

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