It was a perfect plan of deviant pleasure So bold on that spring night Inner soul anticipating The awakening of a new season
Warm, wet with hidden fear and rapture, My pleasure of entanglement, Like new vines at night
Drop of fear fresh Spring rain would Roll down from your lying eyes To fuel the lofty fever that burns within, In that small world of longing, fear, Rapture, and desperation, The game we play, fall on devil ears Fantasy springs forth, mounts, to face The storm, then winter claim at the end.
Alone, now in another time span I lay with sweet enrapture garments Across most private thoughts Spring lays it's bed of moist grass, Clean before the sun, enslaved with Control, warm wind scenting the air, Sun light sparkle tears In eyes so deep and clear.
Alone again I trod - abandoned By memories, and ponder why for Number eight was not