PHEROMONE FLUSH

Catching the rhythm,

We’re learning to ride.

Discovering your mystery,

The things you like.

Uncovering your mystical,

Physical form,

Tracing the shape of your mouth

Chasing the Eye of your storm.

Never make the mistake of believing I’m done,

I’ll keep beating on your big brass drum,

Until your mirage, an oasis forms,

In your desert garden, where gentle hands dance over sands so warm.

We will raise the dunes,

Where your amethyst sleeps,

And deep waves will consume

The solid Sphinx.

Trick questions

Are like ticks on the back

Of sick suggestions.

Little did I think

The Riddle of The Sphinx

Would leave me powerless Beneath your hourglass impression.

We will memorize the dance

That brings him to life,

We will bury his body,

Lose him to time.

I look at you, and I cannot believe what I was willing to do.

I Can’t stop beating on your big, brass drum,

But the pins and the skin are wound too tight.

The drumskin pops,

The beating stops,

Your glistening amethyst disappears beneath the shifting dunes.

 

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