I want you like a storm, but know my time is late and this fantasy is just an imagined dream. A storm cannot be tamed if the flame grows a deep firey red. At the bridge which collapsed long ago.
'Save naught I, but that of yourself, for I am no one and you are everything.'
The salt of water pressed against the pane of my lips- stinging, burning desire flaming from the hell of times ago. Fela singing white neons drape across the gut of hills and the huts of oceans.
A chest so green with envy scoots across colors rhyme and whispers achingly sweet thoughts---