Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The White Flag

I am attempting not to character-lies how love presently defines itself to me
I propose it to be like intentionally sailing against the tide of a rambunctious river of regret
In my view I can see so called lovers throwing themselves overboard
and hearts sinking by the boat full
With no life rafts of reality in reach
Many of the passersby plot their love rescue missions like a Marine General
with the voice inflections and militant mindset of a Drill Sergeant
I am understanding now that love is solemn and then downright crazy at times
all while trying to interpret with earnest Love's language
Words...transforming into synchronized pants and moans of yearning
Coupled with facial distortions that change like the weather
It's then that I picture her lips, her face, her neck, her breasts, her thighs
just her...
I still relish her flavor and the chill I encountered the first and only time I swallowed her
Been searching for her ever since
We might have laid down for that one night, but I feel like I'm the one still standing
Lonely, like the arena after the encore
I realized that sometimes when you play exclusively
befuddling their touch as love
their embrace as affection
their kiss as confirmation
It's just a simple war game of touch and go
With rules of engagement that are meant to confuse
and we still try to make rhyme and reason out of them
So then we surrender... the conflict is over
With nothing but casualties in the end

I Love You But, God Love's You More!

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