I have compressed these emotional concotions
as tight
as those lips
that gave them to me
but they flow regardless--
I am reminded of the violence of light
within me
as those long, white fingers flowed
over me, around me, against me--
those ivory fingers
as if dipped in heroin.

The essence of the same light
lives in me still
seeking to make love again
and give life to the hedonistic being
within me;
it springs out--like a magnificent lion
but succumbs against the walls of wounds
around it;
I may be sitting, standing, walking,
but reel backwards and forwards in shock;
my eyes
can hardly see anything
in front of me.