oh ye men
of little faith
would cause upon
my heart to break
and what should
be a gentle calm
within me is
a pregnant storm
seasons passions
know this fire
embers churning
with desire
exploding now
with quickened temper
because you sorrow
in dismember
seeing not my
sacred kiss
knowing not
the light i give

sigh..
to Mondays woeful child

would i now
bite my tongue
looking further
of beyond
where warm of sun
and brighter nights
soars me to
imagined heights
synergy
replaces doubt
and harmony pulses
to erase my pout
would my mouth
be better worn
in spiting fire
or liquid warm