Below The Surface

I am who whispers in your mind
when you are alone for a time,
the aroma of sandalwood you cannot explain
but pleasantly deems to drive you insane,
the cool breeze that caresses your skin
reminding you of such sweet tactile sin,
and a melody you cannot seem to forget
reliving the lost moments you hungrily covet.

A rose is a rose by any other name
always and still remains the same,
it fills you with desirously sensual wants
incredibly petal soft when they start,
quickly become unbearably sharp
threatening to mercilessly tear you apart,
then, leaving you feeling hungrily bereft
with unfinished deeds and the misery of regret.

Oh but how you love this frail and gentle flower
for its beauty beckons you to taste it and devour,
a delight you fantasize about in dreamscape
even tormenting you daily while awake,
but nothing deters your hunger to know
what simmers below the surface status quo;
brave of heart this I say: “seek and yea shall find”
that for which the impatient man has no time.

Shall we finally come to the climax of this endeavor,
and see what perseverance can afford to the clever?
I neither arrogantly boast nor do I conceitedly believe
being an incredible prize or your amazing dream,
but I do say that if in suffering we acquire immeasurable depth
and beauty like a pigment begins deep below the surface,
then my sensuality is what you will find in this lost treasure
and with reciprocal care, one who will live for your pleasure.

Gypsy Red
*For the fellas who dig us nerdy gals!
* “What you see is what you get, look below the surface before you miss out and regret.” (Gypsy Red)