Non Confessare Nient.

Yah...tonight I may write my confessions once more...
but beware, my friend, not such good idea,
one must hold something to ourselves,
not anyone else's busyness, 
after the broken whispers, 
& the red leaves in the forest,
the wild taste of blood,
from your forgotten lips,
the sensual touch of fingers,
the laughter...the tears, the migration sensually lost
in the fire of the archipelago of your being,
whether its love or not, one cares not,
sex, nothing to do with love,
it can not be animal like...
animals make not love,
they just mate, love can be as sweet,
and imaginable as can be,
when their blood's on fire, one thinks not.
can not be help between two souls in love,
now its the time, as secret as you are,
the words are always mine...............Non confessare nient.

8 April at 21:20 ·