In One Night

And no, I see not the spires of my upturned eye, nor the shore that break upon my hearts and streams. And no, I feel not the sensation of this penetration, now I disengage. And from the segregation I have lust for inspiration, I long to breathe. My passive beauty. My passive smile. The passive lingering before the last great plunge. Where passive rain does kiss my lips and passive wind does lick my chest and whispers in my ears the wonders of my touch. But still no great sensation from this hollow penetration, now I disengage. How can my mind wonder to my fields of amber rain and through this passive silver wind, while my body burns from hollow contact. And how now do I feel shamed? Shamed from the sight and thought of myself. Shamed with no sensation from this broken penetration, now I disengage. And this shame washes not, for no wash can bathe me white of this. And memory does fuck me worse and repeatedly, and does shame me pale. Where I feign strength by sun and show fear by moon. And I lie in rain and wind, retreating from this mountain, hiding from this shadow. And its kiss is not so tender anymore, and its tongue now barbed against my skin. For in one night I sold myself to lust and fell in a crimson touch, and in this found myself sold to cheap. For in one night I concede to wallow in self-worthlessness. For in one night I lost my soul in the sight of myself and dignity shied away. What have I left to give in truth, for my light has once been touched by another and is dimmed in my own self worth. In this one night, how have I become so over dramatic?