Visions of deviant dances.
Butterflies on the wind.
Dark showers light.
Over increasing momentum
Trigger point of beauty.
Every hour’s passing becoming encompassed illusions possessed.
Void between light and darkness.
Eternally wild with sexual fascination of bestial fornication.
A Muse’s darkest beauty.
Mind delight coal.
Awaiting caress: hand, mouth, finger tips.
Sound waves of pleasure and pain.
Mixed on shores of caress; bruises of malicious delights.
Pondering flesh taste as it turns from shades of pale.
New color wheel. I seek to bring.
Awaiting, heart’s beat. So quick. Unable to stop.
Unwavering space between orgasm and death…
Most tantalizing of treats.
Salivating glances cannot be hindered.
Midnight day dreams become realities final thrust…
Penetrative explosion of souls intertwined.
Moments of cruel intimate kindness leaves parties breathless.
Fruits from the forbidden trees and tresses
Fallen to feat accomplished.
Passion’s blissful breathing which force could not stop.
Tears of ecstasy and pain mingle for another biting caress.
The Burrito of Eternal Life.
Responsible for all creation.
Bow before: Tortilla, Bean, and the Holy Cheese.
Then, hereafter go and make burritos of all kinds.
Sell them in the name of the Tortilla and of the Bean and of the Holy Cheese.
But is you buy from the heathen our savory Saviour. Ask yourself.
How much more will the mold of Crisp, who through the eternal Wrap offered himself without blemish to Cheese, purify us to serve the editable Lord.
Follow the one true doctrine.
Follow the Burrito of Eternal Life.
Trapped in the cage that is life…
Fighting the enemy within.
Struggling with obsession.
Lost to all our yesterdays…
All good things…
Found and lost a million times.
Hidden in the last outpost.
Now, the emissary has forgotten.
The keys to the the temple.
For when only fortune favors the bold.
The years of hell…
would never be relieved.
By the fury.
Inside of a broken bow.
Trembling in silence…
Thinking of the storm front ahead.
Mind-set in stone,
Made of Jello that is fluid,
By way of thought.
Premature stream made of cheese.
Without change there is death.
Without identity, life there is not.
Neither, mild nor is it plain.
The hot sauce of pain.
So, onward scribe…
But, do not forget the mustard of forgiveness!