member since January 01, 2009
Eyes dancing the sultry soft dance of a flame for a moth.
Eyes to eyes became lost in that dance,
Deep in that dream, that desire, that despair.
Deeper and deeper to dark too dark,
The path of the mind a jagged crag of a road.
Yet she beckons, oh how she beckons,
And I cannot refuse her call.
So I sit, my pen to write, the raven quill scratching.
To fantasize, to realize, the hear the moan of her words.
My muse, ah my muse, what words, what ideas of flame you fire.
So I sit, I write I tell,
And these words become the flame.
Greetings. I am BMR.
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