The Hour Glass

The Hour Glass Breathless moments are consumed and frustrated By the denial and logic of the Hour-glass , Feelings of warmth and intimacy slowly and Delicately evaporate into the uncompromising Boredom of consciousness and light. I await in silence for the sobering hand Of reality to reach out, to seize my ecstasy And turn my conscience inside out. Will time succeed?, will my conscience plead? The burning passion within my soul now Extinguished by the paranoia reality brings And to an end, my love, come all good things, Until the next time? The next time. I don’t know if I can wait that long from The warmth and security of where I belong. Images of you, of sweat-filled pores Of how I laid you down upon a bed of boards Four pillows deep and I was yours And you were mine and nothing but nothing Seemed to matter anymore except you and I. Images of you, soft tender breasts Nipples swelled and hardened as I caressed The soft silky contours of your sensuous Lily white flesh, your nakedness laughing, Staring at my awkwardness. Let’s divorce ourselves from the ever watchful eye of The Hour-glass; let’s make love just one more time On a bed of boards, four pillows deep, Where you were mine, and I was yours And nothing but nothing seemed to matter Anymore, except you and I .