She is god. She is devil.

She twirls passed midnight.

The full moon’s glow illuminates the ripe fruit and before my eyes she bats her lashes.

She twirls in stockings and The Music in the air holds me still.

Keeping me from speaking. Keeping me from reaching out and touching and loving.

She twirls in the darkness where a lone candle flickers a lonely flame awaiting claim.

Dare we say her name?

Dare we close our eyes for a minute and let her guide our desire?

She is god. She is devil.

Demon healing hurt with lust and want and the insurance on your trust for such things is wholesome.

She is a dancer but when she speaks she sings to your soul

and the old times don't seem so bad but rather a moment of past that has passed.

Alas, love has revealed her eyes and opened her thighs

but that is no surprise if you have the mind that the guy from the window has.

Alas, it must be true.

And that is a painful truth.

We are god.

We are devil.

We are in love with narcissists as narcissists. We are the epitome of cathartic violence. We are not happy but we are content.

We are in the walkway of the void.

And the incense in the air is made up of elements Mid-Night we call love.

Above hangs a moon with a full glow… and still after all her efforts we somehow still don’t know if anything is truly worth loving.

Honestly, nothing is more ironic than The Romantic…. Watching as she twirls passed midnight and we still dream… of some Things..