Let the drums measure the response. Such a heated room, such humidity, finding as we chase, a chaste voice, a decent passion, too much to be enough.
Trying to forget you, living aside an inner promise, so executed—those dreams that never perish, despite exaggeration.
A man kneeled last night; a woman answered; they excel in glory.
So exotic, such an appointment. Arranged to die again, in love with living: designed to give up the ghost.
In a moment to fall into deeper lust: in a second to renounce myself: so indecisive.
Let the beat dictate the increments, aroused in presence, disgusted with myself.
In a heartbeat to excel at a kiss; in a childish moment to renege upon eternity.
It was tambourines, a belly dance, gyration, a sullenness to a fixed soul; the seconds we shared; unsafe walls, to suffice in deaths.
What have we given?
What have we sacrificed?
The blood is purple.
