Madness
This madness does not frighten her.
Within it lies security that
leaves the mediocrity in silence
on the floor to be swept away
with tomorrow's dust.
A fine, clear madness like raindrops,
like gumdrops, sucked soft, and sticky,
when the sugar is gone, stays with her,
fine tasting yet burning the belly when
knowing the hunger remains.
Unbalanced at best, the test runs.
Eyes cut to the bone, force gasps,
clasps and moans of burning
in nights of silvan thoughts and
mountains with rushing streams.
Ah, the first time of indecision,
the second time of longing,
the third time of silence wondering
could never stop the persistence
of that woman who loved just to love.
A little bit pretty, a lot crazier than
the insanity of the situation, she wants
no definition that would make her leave.
If you surrender to her now she dies.
Her life in you has been the battles lost.
She would not fight except that you
have need of confrontational emotions.
She'd sooner declare you the victor,
succumbing to your heated arguments
than find peaceful submission, unloved.
Fine madness! Clear insanity!
Tanned hide of doubting she will never know
a purer lustful drive than yours.
She is too soft, easily taken by you
who have no desire to take, but wish to give.
This madness does not frighten her.
She finds no pain in tampering with you.
You find her madness rich, and sweet.
Afraid? What makes you fear her madness?
Afraid you wish that you were mad, too.