I make love to me……
I caress my dried scars with the slightest touch,
Slowly and softly!
I kiss my remnant feelings and let them arouse.
I try grasping hard……… Really hard!
I try grasping the black patches in my soul and bring them out,
And hear them lament their story of sterile rove.
I blow them with my brightest light to let them glow even within their dark.
Yes! I end up wet……I wet my pair of eyes!
As the memories from rust and the fears inches inside my mind,
I cringe, I scream in a pitch very high.
Reaching the peak of pain and utmost stir,
I collapse in the softest bed of memory stack,
waiting for sleep to cuddle me up……waiting for the wind to softly whisper the sweetest lie.
In guilt of self-indulge do I need to sigh?
Or I keep making love to me…….emboldening my every desire?
