Entwined in our passionate embrace,
Eons may come and go,
But will we ever know it,
Lost in lust as we are now,
But with lust sated ...
Lay, as one still, but with loins satisfied,
What magick falls here?
On a bed of passion,
To make our lust seem like so much more.
Love is not real,
Love is not true,
Lust and passion are the gods I serve.
And yet my heart stirs
As if with wings to fly.
The need to be free,
Near tears it from my chest
In its striving and yearning to plunge and die
And I know
So much I feel.
Love is more than what it seems
And strikes even the most gnarled of hearts
To revel in its beauty and its darkness