progressive thoughts

thru pleasure and pain

the dreams race

across my wild plains

imagery is ghostly

make believe times

I think of you

he and she

together as one

alone

on the hill

away from it all

about to fall

only to be caught

by the hand

hand of love

no separations allowed

no intruders

no darkness

only cool breezes flow

thru your hair

and thru thy eyes

with the intensity of admiration

with the intensity of touch

a skin tone

a lip tongue

a suckle

reach out and touch it

feel the breeze

above the hill

high above

fall with me

into the pit

the pit of utopia

 

 

 

 

© 1997 David Greg Harth

97.01.30.02:16:00@31USQWNYC