Dancing, slowly spiraling into an uncertain oblivion encompassed with nothing more than the greatest of ambitions and the most elaborate of emotions carrying you softly to the impact waiting below.

Still, I am dancing. I am dancing with you.

Let me crash, barreling into oblivion within the folds of your arms. Smothered eternally in the impatience of my whims and imagination. Be my dreamcatcher, tiny strings reaching out to catch the tiny strands of my spirit that leaks forth with every one of my outbursts of passion.

Spinning, slowly spiraling ever onwards into the unknown which comes with every waking moment with you.

My map has lost its way and left me in charge of finding the course. So now we wander aimlessly across the plains of your skin and the mountains of your mind in search of some meaning and destination within you where I can stay forever. Lusting constantly and finding no quenching river of sex or adulteration, no oasis of corruption and greed. Just a simple purity that is slowly being perverted to a much darker landscape as I measure and weigh every step of the land I travel.

Falling, slowly spiraling forever towards some clandestine place that pulls me constantly towards the innate way you please me without doing a thing.

No compass, who needs such things on a voyge into the subconcious way I am lost in your pride and passionate artistic yearnings. The way you kiss me so innocently and secretly want for me to make you as dirty as I am. You wish to play on my field and yet we still fight the urge. Like a white flower, hanging deftly by the last frayed edges of its stem over a glass of paint. The precipice calls undeniably to the fragile thing, so powerful in the way it resists, a futile action. My dear let me be that last string, but let me also be the paint. Let me hold you from temptation, but also let me mar you beyond repair.

Plummeting, slowly accelerating towards the imminent demise that awaits me when I land. Shall I find reason or madness below, none know but you.

Heart on the sleeve. A figure of speech for sure, wives' tale or such. Still, I find it so. My heart expanding so far that it has grown impossible to hold it within the confines of my ribs. Thus my arms have adjusted and my heart has grown from my shoulder, so that when you lean on me you might lean upon it and you shall truly be at one with my heart. That black, jagged, brutal thing that callously awaits your innocence like the bloody knife to the slaughtered lamb. Oh the irony in which religious sacrifice comes to mind when I think of possibly taking you. Both a resounding feeling of intense love and passion, as well as a horrid gaping feeling of cruel intentions and inevitable pain and sadness come to mind when I think of it.

My stomach turns over. The contents, nothing as it were, threatens to force itself upwards as I turn my face towards the dark descent below me, ready to be enveloped in its might.

Oh were such passionate kisses nothing but to be the death of me in some horrible self-depricating manner in which I draw you too me and feel the crushing guilt of stealing something that which can never be returned?

No, that is not so. Each kiss resonates with a passion unlike anything I've ever felt. It washes away all guilt and fear. Slows my fall to a pleasant descent. The whipping wind of death now feels like little more than a soft breeze of hope and beauty. My impatience seems like a calling that draws me ever closer to you, trying to meet you midstride and join you in whatever walk you shall take through life. I find the idea of one day, possibly soon and yet impossibly far away should you decide so, as nothing but a simple afterthought.
No, for now I shall stroll beside you and take what comes as what will be.

Now, will you hold my hand and step closer? The rain is coming and, my dear, I have but one coat to offer you.

(1:52)