about not escaping what life is throwing at your feet..
who made me write about sincere vulnerability,
the first one who robbed me of my nostalgic nightmares,
and made me love a man without doubting his intentions -
fear, would not be the right emotion to follow;
I won't bite your private parts off, knowing your true nature,
I'll just embrace you with my tender body -
(don't you know that? Or is that what you're escaping darling?)
lean, as if i belonged to the cat race,
arching my back, the way you've imagined me doing,
pressing my all into your colossal individuality,
into your inspiring physique, granting you my entire my mind
(and believe me that's a perverted little lake),
letting you see the inside of the Devil's own creation..
Maybe we would be wrong - according to the morals
and the standards of the normal population,
but you - with your admiration for the higher spirits,
for the Roman emperors and mentally harmful writers -
don't you know, that destiny, chooses only the special ones? -
Those whose blood is flowing - cold as ice, hot as boiling gasoline,
those who're not frightened to step aside
from the usual rituals, those who dare to pursue the meal,
which only some are allowed to taste.
Believe me, you're not an ordinary man and I may know -
remember that Caesar was the one who made me? -
your ancient soul, gigantic, memorable character,
combined with my twisted mind and my artistic possibilities,
wouldn't we become the topic of envy for the Gods?
Maybe I'm brave poetically, challenging you to embrace your identity,
not to shelter under another nationality, or name,
I'm frightened myself - if you would touch me with your lips,
I think I'd shatter like sparkling glass, into tiny acute pieces,
holding my breath, like an army of gorgons under ropes.
Your hands, magnificent, as if they were carved onto a Greek statue -
if they'd touch me, you'd probably not hear me for a few seconds,
and you know how rare that would be.
Thank you for giving me mystery, it made me drink wine -
yet even the bottom of my glass didn't provide me with fare answers.
No matter how you spin the roulette, the arrow is pointing at you.
Are the hostile mental hounds playing games with my mind?
Don't hide under street lanterns - crawl under my negligees,
People never regret the undertaken,
yet suffer from always following the faithful protocol...
Poetry by FrancescaLuca
Read 700 times
Written on 2006-11-22 at 00:21
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An army of gorgons
If you're him - who managed to win trust and awaken passion,who made me write about sincere vulnerability,
the first one who robbed me of my nostalgic nightmares,
and made me love a man without doubting his intentions -
fear, would not be the right emotion to follow;
I won't bite your private parts off, knowing your true nature,
I'll just embrace you with my tender body -
(don't you know that? Or is that what you're escaping darling?)
lean, as if i belonged to the cat race,
arching my back, the way you've imagined me doing,
pressing my all into your colossal individuality,
into your inspiring physique, granting you my entire my mind
(and believe me that's a perverted little lake),
letting you see the inside of the Devil's own creation..
Maybe we would be wrong - according to the morals
and the standards of the normal population,
but you - with your admiration for the higher spirits,
for the Roman emperors and mentally harmful writers -
don't you know, that destiny, chooses only the special ones? -
Those whose blood is flowing - cold as ice, hot as boiling gasoline,
those who're not frightened to step aside
from the usual rituals, those who dare to pursue the meal,
which only some are allowed to taste.
Believe me, you're not an ordinary man and I may know -
remember that Caesar was the one who made me? -
your ancient soul, gigantic, memorable character,
combined with my twisted mind and my artistic possibilities,
wouldn't we become the topic of envy for the Gods?
Maybe I'm brave poetically, challenging you to embrace your identity,
not to shelter under another nationality, or name,
I'm frightened myself - if you would touch me with your lips,
I think I'd shatter like sparkling glass, into tiny acute pieces,
holding my breath, like an army of gorgons under ropes.
Your hands, magnificent, as if they were carved onto a Greek statue -
if they'd touch me, you'd probably not hear me for a few seconds,
and you know how rare that would be.
Thank you for giving me mystery, it made me drink wine -
yet even the bottom of my glass didn't provide me with fare answers.
No matter how you spin the roulette, the arrow is pointing at you.
Are the hostile mental hounds playing games with my mind?
Don't hide under street lanterns - crawl under my negligees,
People never regret the undertaken,
yet suffer from always following the faithful protocol...
Poetry by FrancescaLuca
Read 700 times
Written on 2006-11-22 at 00:21
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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