When Fantasies Were Free

The shards of shameless ecstasy we weave within our minds,
Forgiven in our fantasies that victimize the blind,
For those who chose the primrose path of chaste shall waste away,
Without a care to what was there and where the whispers play.
Charasmatic confidante, the fence shall hide the spoils,
Far from fractured fairy tales that serpentinely coils,
To twist their way into our minds sublime as they may be,
And journey's backward to the day when fantasies were free.

How deep recesses to unfold to bring to our attention,
Plastic is forever while the flesh demands inspection,
Serendipitous shadows seek the weakened wandered whim,
To tantalize before your eyes the urge to be within.
Pleading pliant sensitive the hand becomes the eye,
Against aroused ambivalence with never need for shy,
The soft allure shall surely cure what amateurs might see,
And journey's backward to the day when fantasies were free.

Silver sheened contentment stares and dares awareness too,
Who among the tawdry crowd is proud of what they do,
I for one have seen the taste that wastes the worn in hand,
Stiffened in selection by a need to understand,
That what remains as fantasy is frugal in our soul,
Playing staying anonymous in silent seductive holes,
Where we all keep our secrets stored in stainless harmony,
And journey's backward to the day when fantasies were free.