the tiniest gasp can be noted,
emmited from a girl across the darkened room.
her breath is tacit and tactful,
waiting for the perfect opportunity
of assault. but, for the moment
her fire is contained,
yet exploding.

Shadowed in a cloud of mystery,
her figure reveals itself-
entrancing you, diving into
your deepest recess- almost
immediately.
diving without a hope,
forgotten for a split moment too long.
her pale body contrasts
the black of your iris,
before blending into it's fearsome depths.

so faintly, a crimson thread
weaves it's way along the pale shades;
only the lightest illuminescence
can be penetrated;
these areas multiply
leaving you a vulnerable mess.
she percieves this in her surrounding;
waking you show you that you
are
not
alone trapped inside your psyche
she can sympathize with your
lost hopes and failures.

and, into this fabric of delerium,
her stiches and scratched become
evident; however, she can only scathe
while attempting to grip through you
your fabric is becoming woven with something new.
and, with you in her grasp,
she grasps what causes her to grasp you so.

power. drunkedness.
C L A R I T Y.
she understands your designs,
she is enamored with you.

And where was i, in this
orgy of connectedness?
this bender of imposed oneness?
whoring myself for air,
in the depths of your
ocean.blue.eyes
and praying to find my soul
in the vast depths
of your deadening gaze.

and the deeper she swims,
the deeper you get-
an unbreakable cycle where
the mind knows better,
and the heart casts aside the mind.
and no matter, no mind, one stare
and she will try to weave into (catastrophe)
once more, failing to see the scars
she left once before

06/11/2003

Author's Note: my version of nalani soon's "&.s.h.e..l.o.v.e.s..h.i.m."

Posted on 06/12/2003
Copyright © 2025 Andrew S Adams