Whispers on the Wind

[Scots_On_The_Rocks]

I want you,
With such intensity
Right here
Right now.

My fingers tangled in your hair,
the colour of the finest French cognac.

I see in my minds eye
Your eyes the darkest brown,
so like the ink in the inkwell
as they look to me with fire,
with passion.

My fingers insist on touching your skin.
So much so that my palms itch from the want.

I long to clasp you to me fiercely, taking you right here.
Bending you over the desk.
Having my way with you until you scream and beg me not to stop.
Until both our knees are weak, and our breathing laboured.

I long to be your vagabond,
Your rogue
Your dirty little secret.

As in turn you become my little whore.

The lines becoming fuzzy between
Reality and fantasy.

And as we wait to write our own history in grunts, growls, moans, and screams.

I claim forever what is rightfully mine.

Your body,
Your, heart,
Your soul.

In silence

[Scots_On_The_Rocks]

"Opus of Existence"

I feel the music pulse through my veins
Every cell becoming engorged with a rush of fluid

This same music can also enrage me or invigorate me
For it is the essence of who I am...it is in my very make-up

I am the aria, the operetta, the composition of each striking note

These instruments endeared to me for they are my fragile skeleton
They are the end result of a fusion of passion, drive, creativity and consumption

My only enemy, the silence that threatens to wash me away
Notes of my existence lost to the tempestuous winds

So here I write my final opus
Kept within the enclosure of parchment and pigment
Thus enabling one to know that I even existed at all

And when time is forgotten, and civilization gone, these notes will remain, carried on the subtle breeze