A subtle longing in hostage to censure
An endless recant restrained in pictures
Painted with weary ties that bind
Defined and outlined so many times
Would they even notice?
Would they even mind?
What’s one more that got away?
There’ll soon be another to take its place
Come September, come what may
In the delicacy of time and space
A growing ache that begs the question
With answers raging against the tension
Breaking free and hunting down
This driving lust that claims her now
Feeding this hunger with synths and sounds
Would they even hear it?
Would they even recognize?
What’s one more to scandalize?
Within the sardonic
Raves towards harmonic
There’ll soon be another to ride the wave
Come the springtime, come what may
In the intricate balance of pleasure and pain
Warm breezes finding an open window
Carrying a scent that only he knows
Acutely aware she is calling for him
Time and again, to settle a whim
Upon ancient waters that flood every page
Of their breathless legacy
Would either claim it?
Would time betray it?
Would they know the provocateurs?
Who calm and quiet and close the door
Egregious echo with still one more
Upon weary shoulders
But, God, he’s just so beautiful
She lights a candle for one more day
Upon his seduction,
…come what may