Lost words are more than merely echoes in my mind
A poem dies on paper, you may as well be blind
Still ears want to vibrate with each beat of your heart
Like a thunderous crescendo aching for the start

Waiting in anticipation for reality
The hunger to feast on love or to be set free
To consume what little within remains alive
This craving drives up higher with its will to thrive

All the yesterdays past by, without a taken chance
Carefree or careless, it's high time to drop these pants
Disregarding consequences no matter how dire
Reckless desire yields to its need for feminine fire

08/28/2003

Posted on 11/02/2005
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