I want to see the starry nights now hidden by the city lights.
And I want to see my lover’s shape
still hidden in her flair.

I want to see the morning sun before the day has yet begun.
And I want to see my lover’s nape
still hidden in her hair.

I want to be more than I already am and more than they thought I could be.
I want to be more than I thought that I could and more than they thought they would see.

I want to taste the lust of life and taste the love that is my wife.
And I want to taste my lover’s yin
still hidden in her head.

I want to taste the life of lust submission that will come with trust.
And I want to taste my lover’s sin
still hidden in her bed.

I want to be more than I already am and more than I thought I could be.
I want to be more than I thought that I could and more than I thought I would see.

I want to see the gothic flair cathedrals reaching to the air.
And I want to see my lover’s fate
still hidden in her layers.

I want to see decadent views of all the thirst I see in you.
And I want to see my lover’s hate
still hidden in her prayers.

I want to be more than I already am and more than you thought I could be.
I want to be more than I thought that I could and more than you thought you would see.

I want to speak the poet’s words of long lost love and the absurd.
And I want to speak my lover’s need
still hidden in her tears.

I want to speak language of love, language of lust, language of doves.
And I want to speak my lover’s greed
still hidden in her fears.

I want to be more than I already am and more than we thought I could be.
I want to be more than I thought that I could and more than we thought we would see.

Can you please try and explain, to me these things so complex?
And if you know, the ways of the love. And please, the ways of sex.

Will you please try and explain, to me the ways of the dead?
And if you know, the ways of sorrow. And please, the things I said.

Can’t you please try and explain, to me the ways of the dark?
And if you know, the ways of the day. And please, the ways of art.

How many nights can I deny
the fire that burns and turns inside?
How many nights can I awake
in a cold sweet and to an old fate?
How many nights can I deny
The way that i was when I was shy?
How many nights can I awake
take heed and take hold the words of the snake?

Son, she moves like she’s ready to love.
Son, she moves like a beautiful dove.
Son, she moves like a woman in need.
Son, she moves like she knows how to please.

Son, she moves like she’s ready to dance.
Son, she moves like a steamy romance.
Son, she moves like she’s already there.
Son, she moves like she wants to be bare.

Son, she moves like she wants to believe.
Son, she moves like she’s ready to leave.
Son, she moves like she’s already gone.
Son, she moves like a stupid love song.

How can I praise you with these lips that lie and how can I love you with this hearts that’s broken?
How can I praise you with this tongue that’s tied and how can I love you with these sins unspoken?

How can I seek you with these eyes so blind, still searching for their earthly pleasure?
How can I reach you with these hand that bind, still grasping for their earthly treasure?

How can I praise you with these lips unclean and how can I love you with this hearts that’s aching?
How can I praise you with these sins unseen and how can I love you with this heart still breaking?

I love you for you first loved me.
And I praise you with a heart that’s free.

I love you for you first loved me.
And I praise you with a mouth that’s clean.

i
your muse was wrong
your phantom lied
we do not write of war at all
we write of love
we write of love!
we write of love and nothing more

we write of love
the love of war
the love of death as all must fall
we write of love
the love of death
we write of love and nothing more

ii
we write of love
the love of death
the love of war since all crusade
we write of love
the love of war
we write of love and nothing more

we write of love
the love of loss
the love of pain since all betray
we write of love
the love of pain
we write of love and nothing more

iii
we write of love
the love of pain
the love of loss since all will bruise
we write of love
the love of loss
we write of love and nothing more

we write of love
the love of sex
the love of touch that all will lose
we write of love
the love of touch
we write of love and nothing more

iv
we write of love
the love of touch
the love of sex that we require
we write of love
the love of sex
we write of love and nothing more

we write of love
the love of God
the love of Love that all desire
we write of love
the love of Love
we write of love and nothing more

v
we write of love
the love of Love
the love of God since all have sinned
we write of love
the love of God
we write of love and nothing more

we write of love
the love of want
the love of need we all pretend
we write of love
the love of need
we write of love and nothing more

vi
we write of love
the love of need
the love of want since all are numb
we write of love
the love of want
we write of love and nothing more

we write of love
the love of sin
the love of  self since all succumb
we write of love
the love of self
we write of love and nothing more

vii
we write of love
the love of self
the love of sin since all will fall
we write of love
the love of sin
we write of love and nothing more

your phantom lied
your muse was wrong
we do not write of war at all
we write of love
we write of love!
we write of love and nothing more

Why is this so hard to say and think of words that rhyme and play on other words to make you understand?

Why is this so hard to write and to understand the other night and make it fit inside my trembling hands?

Why is this so hard to know and keep it real and keep control and make it fit inside my crumbling plans?

I am the son of sorrow’s love affair with destination.

I decreed to test the pleasure,
to drink the wine the blood of life.
Taste the wine when lost in sorrow,
taste the wine when lost in strife.

I decreed to test the pleasure,
to test the pleasure of my eyes.
But visions can not soothe the soul
and visions can not satisfy.

I decreed to test the pleasure,
to test the pleasure of my flesh.
but flesh was left still wanting more.
Alas, I did not past the test.

Unfinished.

Confession is so easy but it’s so hard to repent
of every sin and every thorn and pound of flesh i’ve spent.

Confession is so easy but it’s so hard to redeem
every time and every crime and all my futile dreams.

Confession is so easy but it’s so hard to forgive
seven times or seventy for as long as we shall live.

Confession is so easy…