i have wrote of love an it's wants, it's needs. an the force of nature that draws us to it's touch, a thougt is followed with silence, rewinding the footage of images that play's itself back in the mind, as we again remember the time's, moment's, minutes, an hours that console the soul of no regret, it's consistent's, is like waves current's riding with a gleam,


i have looked at the apposing attraction of a kiss, it's quietness, it's serenity that takes you to something good, something that still's seconds, an i have enjoyed all the pleasure's of it's gift, as i see the contretemp's of more to come, it's course thrills me, keeping my heart abeat time after time, for i cannot image any differnce,

a difference of what, an how, of no rewinds, of not experience it's mood, that's shared, a understanding gift, a decoration of a smell, of a scent, an a decoration of a outside bein looking in, with no explantion, i think of the ritual of day's, night's, like a longing widow's cry, an internal flame, that burns the mind, pawning at it's hunger, it's need to no more,


i have apposed so much, but to be the apposer of no regret i fall back into it's grasp of no, my memory is long, an my hunger is deep, for i cannot appose something that's woven into my soul.