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Now the launch lies abandoned on shore, me lost on an island, a life laid out empty. |
The Launch for Ray My bed is a ship sailing through dreams keeping me aroused all night with the memory of hips pounding hips (it's what you wanted) as I drown in my craving for your lips. That moist sweetness of tongue, moments of shared warmth. Now the launch lies abandoned on shore, me lost on an island, a life laid out empty. Where did it go? Where have you gone? You sailed off in dreams waving at wheat, sailed across the sunlit prairie. Is it warm? Is it moist? Does it undulate with the movement of wind? My bed is cold and it snows outside my room, the window cracked open in hope you'll fly by, see my light, enter my dreams like a moth. Oh, to sail your oceans again! The wave and swell of its surface, the fragrance of sweat, the glistening taste of your youth rippling to my touch, storms not bothering my docked boat, the tempest overcome by locked-lips. Dreams sail through night's depths. They ask each point of light, each spark of warmth: where have you gone? © Kåre Enga [168.221] #19 November 14, 2011 For Ray Ray Note to my self, earlier version: My bed is a ship sailing through dreams keeping me aroused all night with the memory of hips pounding hips (it's what you wanted) as I drown in my craving of your lips. That moist sweetness of tongue, moments of shared warmth. Now the launch lies abandoned on shore, me lost on an island, a life laid out empty. Where did it go? Where have you gone? Sailed off in dreams waving at wheat, sailed across the sunlit prairie. Is it warm? Is it moist? Does it undulate with the wind? My bed is cold and it snows outside my room, the window cracked open in hopes you'll fly by, see my light, enter my dreams like a moth. Oh, to sail your oceans again! The wave and swell of its surface, the fragrance of sweat, the glistening taste of your youth rippling to my touch, the storms not bothering my docked boat, the tempest overcome by locked-lips. Dreams sail through night's depths. They ask each point of light, each spark of warmth: where have you gone? |