poem in progress
inspired by Savatoons, the mistress of sad, dark poetry
Skin is the preferred organ of expression.
Let me stain your flesh with my longing, brand you with my hands.
Let me touch you, make you mine, as you have always been and never were.
Better not to take that chance. Keep your distance, forsake my trailing fingertips.
Knowing the words that spill from my lips are engraved upon my heart. Knowing this boon, once granted, will always remain.
I know why it is that you take me for a fool. My heart is but a spoil of the Love Game.
Skin is the preferred organ of expression.
Let me stain your flesh with my longing, brand you with my hands.
Let me touch you, make you mine, as you have always been and never were.
Better not to take that chance. Keep your distance, forsake my trailing fingertips.
Knowing the words that spill from my lips are engraved upon my heart. Knowing this boon, once granted, will always remain.
I know why it is that you take me for a fool. My heart is but a spoil of the Love Game.
posted by KR | 4/25/2005 12:02:00 AM
3 Comments:
Kelly, I have taken the liberty of rearranging just a few words and lines , I hope you like it:
Let me touch your preferred organ of expression.
Stain my flesh with your long organ of expression. Brand me with your organ of expression .
Make you mine, as you have always been and never were.
Better not to take that chance. Keep your distance, forsake my trailing fingertips on your organ of expression.
Knowing the juice that spill from your preferred organ of expression are engraved upon my Skin . Knowing this boon, once granted, will always remain.
I know why it is that you take me for a fool, for my love is the spoils of the Game.
:):):)
wow, i'm completely overwhelmed, by both your poem and your compliment.
damn fine piece of writing.
and aaww gee, that's a nice thing to say.
- savatoons -
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