Devious Kind

Baby, I am an opiate,

the slur upon your words.

Don't take me in anymore and I won't hurt.

What potent confusion usurps our senses?

Baby what addicts will lurk

as strange missiles in your mind.

Baby love so hurts.

I am a trance of a kind.

 

The monsoon season unwinds

wreaking havoc terribly, though we try

to regress in each others' sighs; it just won't die.

Baby this love is terrible---why?

How strange, the nightingale trills before each night

before we collapse in exhaustion,

before we climax to another precipice.

 

Baby, to you do I only write.

I am an artifice of the most devious kind.

 

Reviews

[*~*Butterfly Kisses*~*]

A unique and seemingly lyrical write mixed with the emotions of what love can bring.

Nicely done.

[Revery]

The angst of love and the havoc it flowers. I liked it most all of it accept the word "missiles" which stick out like a sore thumb.

[David Lewis Paget]

Love can be terrible, and addictive, and obsessional... and that's probably why we hate being in love, or love being in hate - it's all one. Too much intensity is never a good thing, far better to set a distance, so the inevitable disengagement is not so disagreeable.

[Leesah]

Brilliant writing...

[RareRed]

I absolutely LOVE this!!!! Great write!