Walkin on Air
How to Tell You?
Pebbles crunch beneath my soles:
"scrunch, crunch, scrunch, crunch, scrunch,"
sound direction leading to a secret place
where I can unload some pent up affection
reserved for you my love
who never ask for return on investment.
Love, just like pearls, like
constant touches of caressing flesh
on flesh: skin to skin
metamorphoses into words of meaning
in streams of electrifying poesy:
convulsing orgasmic centered intent.
Where else can battered souls
blemished by knaves of moronic banality
define their inner beauty otherwise
hidden in deepest chambers of eruption
get relief floating on brilliant stardust?
If that doesn't say I love you: what does?