Dashing (Rondine)

Run your finger along my arm
While on the loveseat we waited
Our love could not be abated
Wanting to raise no alarm
We lowered our level of charm
Keeping others from harm
But our loving fire was unsated
As Moon begin to cry

Tapping your finger in alarm
Into the back room we faded
The nearest room we raided
Almost arriving belated
It seem more than just fated
As we began to slowly warm
Away from the raging storm
As the moon began to cry

Nothingness

No matter how much… I want

How much… I can feel

How… I can almost taste

It doesn’t matter

It is immaterial

A passing sensation

A momentary distraction

We all pass into nothingness

Should we try to overcome?

Try to surpass?

Try to better ourselves?

Whether we want to or not

We desire

We can feel

We do taste

We return to matter

We improve the material

Enjoy the sensations

Prolong the distractions

Before we become the nothingness 

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