The Suitor

by bryce

These are bad for me, I know, but you’ve got me up yet another night.
Thinking, dreaming,creating a world
Where rather than a cigarette to my lips,
Its your hips in my grips and your tips reaching —

Tips seeking, contact like those first moments we first started Speaking,
Young cats call it Talking, but I’ll call it Locking,
Pieces falling into place like some type divine caulking,
Shit, sweet dreams are made of this…

I used to feel intoxicated by love, I’d endeavor to be enamored,
Clamor with no standards, but right now, its just you and me;
A moment I’d chosen as a younger man with hunger pains,
Now satiated with little to gain, I pull heavy smoke while you tug on heartstrings…

Beautiful Thing, you indeed are by far a source for a sore soul…
Wellspring of inspiration, admiration, celestial celebration serenading
An eager ear with sweet, sylphic susserations
Each syllable kneading, pleading me to come nearer.

I certainly see clearer in the dimmed moonlight
Hazy with thick clouds, I ask the Moon, I
Think I might love her like possesed with a rune’s Might,
Is it love, is it love, is it lovethat I’m feeling?

This healing, oh this reeling, peeling back a calloused heart
Revealing a double portion of passion, a hidden chamber fastened
To a lass’s deep mind, I release a deep sigh,
Not of exhaustion, but of elation — patience pays off, my truest Revelation.

I’ve been reveling lately, leveling with Fate see,
I hated the youth heart, but now I appreciate it greatly,
May the Greats see, may the Ancestors smile down upon me,
For finally, I can be a Lover I’ve always intended to be.