She turned to me with haunted look Atop the spires of her pain, I took her to my house and bed And made it snow, and sleet, and rain Her brown hair tumbled everywhere, As she arched back in focus pure; I thought I’d known that haunted look, But never could Be sure
breakaway dreamer heightened sense languor and excess
Our laughter turned into a sort of rhythm, Our rhythm turned into a sort of dance; As motion filled with music filled with passion, A double-bed became a vast expanse -- A journey that it took a while to finish, Two pioneers upon a new-cut trail; And she was like a book I couldn't put …
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again and then flowing past such times as kept us unable to understand but feeling our way
One afternoon, when we were autumning and such, you asked me when I would, finally, and why not now I never understood, the way that your eyes changed what they saw, making something out of every shifting mass, and yet -- One afternoon, twisted, and interlaced, I answered your question in the affirmative, and you …
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"Come now, you owe me one."
you told me to believe you, although i had my doubt; it all seemed hard to understand, but i’m not one to flout a confidence, once given. and so i played my role, and found you quite believable when taken as a whole
Any kind of way you want Any sort of thing you need Take me where you want to go Sate the hunger you must feed Narratives and tongues of fire Shadows dance and morning breaks Any kind of way you want And as often as It takes
Warning: Something vaguely like adult content.