Satisfactory Biped Troubles

The conversations and cuddles starting over the brewing clouds have lingered,

long enough to be a part of my sweat and clothes, of the last cigarette and the agitated loins.

Blanket as my fortress provides me juvenile courage to chase the elusive catch,

which is all but vanished as it bypasses the law of diminishing returns.

How luring the sustained high of cogent words, of toes touching, of warped thoughts,

and wrapped finger webs; vivid as a lucid dream.

Burning papers survive by the descendant ash I have kept safe,

it holds the talks, it cradles my dreams and the heat of the present,

of the moments spiked through a perennial presence, a mounting one,

a molded one cast in the shadow of a familiar figure.

Pristine as glass shards and ghostly ice knives has been my desire,

penetrating gently under your colored skin, try slowly and unsightly.

I've always been the dying ink for a paper in the time of need,

don't accept me but lie down and listen; casually.

The shoulders are going to disappear, the mountains hide bruises you have not seen,

as strong have a reputation to implode and be judged,

the weak of us are already dead, and the dreamers;

we are too scared, of our longings and our non-existent boundaries,

Too immersed in our own pacifism,

Too immoral to justify our hedonistic tendencies,

Troubling the world inch by inch but petrified,

to exchange our love.