A touch of madness as he smiles slyly to the side.. looking over his shoulder and I don’t know why.. and then he cries.. as the blood paints the moon.. a ride, a tide of rawness, make vulnerable brute force.. a contradiction, paradox.. a question answered with a question only leading to more questions that have no answers.. a chest of mystery.. red washed in passion and shame.. unspoken broken dreams..shattered hearts..brought together,.. repelling ..and then compelling .. magnetic pleasure and pain.. his expression masked then it falls and I see what he hides… or do I …
When the blood hits the moon.. when the blood hits the moon..
He tells me nothing, while meaning everything.. nothing matters making everything so plain… as there isn’t a tomorrow, the night is day..and what was sane is really crazy or is there no definition to anything.. and then he touches me .. I listen to his heartbeat from the inside.. mighty but exposed, protected but defenseless because I know the unknown.. but yet the thickness of the walls uphold .. the ultra-sensitive genius .. the caul..the mark of the mad, or is it the wise old soul.. the heart trembles as the blood rushes home..
When the blood fever takes hold.. when the blood fever takes hold..
I try to speak but no words can I make as his nakedness presses against mine, and entwined we become nothing at all but seeing more than what we can comprehend .. we forget everything we have ever known..but blood and wine, pleasure and pain, beauty in the brutality of sweet things left alone.. unopened gifts, and mysteries, things yet to be discovered.. to not know them, but the taste is so sweet, and the heartache so bitter, so bitter to know the honey that dwells there in.. there in the nightmare, the hellish places lives a thrill that makes me cry out.. and the tears release the pressure of heart about to explode..
Blood on the moon.. Blood on the moon..
The intensity gravitates us to the emancipation of the soul.. blood and bone.. bruised fruit.. ripened with fear..the emotions exposed..the juice flows and drips.. gushes forth..laughter on his lips.. the potion the poison and the elixir..to drive out the demons.. lovely demons.. the voices that speak quietly when no one listens.. playing games and tickling the lips of words not spoken.. closing in ..a heart again.. mushy and raw..pulp and all.. sometimes the decay is so sweet as it creates the wine that we drink.. it down.. the poison that cures it all.. all but the madness of the blood red moon..