Ex.

This ecstasy, pure and tainted,
A sheet of white, with a splotch of red.
A single dew drop, on gossamer wings,
A stiletto heel,
cherry flavoured lip gloss,
or platinum plated rings.


It creeps up,
Bit by bit, higher
like mercury brought to boil,
a parasite, a stalagmite,
just a point of desire.


A love drug,
Inhale, dream, repeat,
Hallucinations and helixes,
Of Spirals and lines,
Taken with a long stemmed glass of
Pinot noir or Merlot wine.

Creating paradigms,
Or paradise within
Neither gained, nor lost
Where only fools rush in.

To covet or covert
To digress or regress.
To feel the sparkle,
To see the warmth.

A piece of dark chocolate,
Or silk satin sheets.
A fresh strawberry,
simple lavender sticks,


can it be bound somewhere
between a sonnet of sixty words,
Or an epic of six million?
Or three single words, or maybe nothing at all.

Maybe its just me, or maybe its
You and your gorgeous behaviour,
Does every love story have an end?
Or does every end have a love story?

I love the way I look at you
I love the way I love you.
Its lust, that I am in love with,
Or maybe I lust for love.

Ah, this feeling of misery,
Or ecstacy.
Else maybe it’s just a plain
Case of idiosyncrasy.