I lust for every memory infected
By my fear's lectures...
If only to touch the weapons.
(Soft skin and curves)
Even the holsters, keeping them sealed.
My prying eyes,
Despite despise
Of white lies surrounded in black,
Long for the demon's lips
To caress my ignorance.
I thirst for the fervor
Of her intelligence,
To penetrate the crevaces
Of her mind.
Entwine inside,
And send shivers through her spine.
All so we may come to fruition-
Glisten...
In our dimension
Of sex, love, hate.
But my desires want to consume
The womb,
And bear the seed
Of instantaneous mood swings.
Such an infant would grow wings,
And leap lacking the knowledge to soar,
From either/or:
The mother who is imagenry.
The father who is a dream.
Therefor, my lust is all that exists,
Because love precedes my sins.
