Press play before reading.
Sundown, another letdown, a dreamstate downpour starts.
The sensual mists of longing breathes into the room a kind of heavy,
clouded incense, cradling you into aimless drifting.
The cold seeps through the crevices, the walls start to give in.
You lay there submerged in the icy waters of uncertainty’s embrace,
drowning, with just the pulsing neon glow of passion keeping you alive.
Embers of desire slithers into the sheets, inching its way to the forbidden,
luring you to a binding undercurrent surrender.
The lush creases of the comforter reels you back in, captures you into solace.
And it is here in the heady afterdark, the fine line equating thirst with lust,
where a downtempo death sentence drugs up the scene,
Here in the grey area where you’re lost
not knowing where rules end and your own impulse begins,
where a thousand pendulum promises are whispered
and none of them matter because what does
is if you can just keep riding the high,
for another cycle more,
It is in this pleasure where you taste meaning,
where you taste release, where you taste home.
You will want nothing more but this
for now, at least.