Oblivious

We never exchange more than three words with a Friend in our lives on that level to which our thoughts and feelings almost habitually rise. - Thoreau

I want you to join my on this desert isle.

Castaway and candid.

Carnal and cervical.

Vascular and vericose.

Migratory and mitigating.

Pulsating with passion.

Sharing my canteen.

Lighting a signal fire.

Scratching "HELP" in life's sand.

I want to detonate words that will obliterate you.

Pushing your plunger.

Lighting your fuse.

Igniting your lust.

Blasting you off from emotion's orgasmic launching pad.

Sending you into the orbit of oblivion.

I want you to feel what I feel.

See what I see.

Know what I know.

Be what I cannot be.

Swallowing my utterances.

Vomiting my helplessness.

I want to let you drive and hold the keys.

But I cannot.

All I have is these sumptuary abc's ...

Author's Note

“A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work of art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language, and not only be read but actually breathed from all human lips; -- not be represented on canvas or in marble only, but be carved out of the breath of life itself.” - Thoreau