In the Dark
A tiny spark
The pace of the production
Making sure they’re done,
The scene of sensitivities,
Time spent in the sun.
Your smile and your beauty.
And my intoxication,
The distant call of duty,
We yearn for liberation.
In a place where the pace,
Has stilled and melted our senses,
The flowers in your garden,
We farm for recompenses.
In the dark, a tiny spark,
It can turn into a fire,
An arrow that hits the mark,
Strong feelings of desire.
Both are set free from repartee,
Love in a mist of whispers,
When there is only you and me,
Tears fell, and I kissed hers.
I wax and wane, yet I’m the same,
Beneath the skin and bone,
Inside burns an eternal flame,
A love I call my own.
An inch of inspiration,
The scene of sensitivities,
From my head down to your feet
The pace of the propensities.
Its ilk is iteration,
Fast to infinity,
Mutual liberation,
In love’s affinity.
©
David Rudder
2023
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