Love and the battlefield,
jets dropping smart bombs.
I don't have to see were the bomb
will hit,
it will hit its mark.
In your head,
In your heart,
In your mind,
Your minds eye can see,
The one million men trudging across
fields of desolate sand,
Carrying sand colored back packs
full of the necessities to make it another day.
They are prepared to fight,
fight for what they believe in,
they are prepared to even die for what they
believe.
Love, that fickle illusion of a
voluptuous woman, standing with red lips,
and black hair. Her hand on her hips and
her bosom presenting to you.
short skirt, legs bare,
talking, whispering words,
words that you have heard before, but
not like this, as now you "REALLY" hear
the words. Resonating inside of your soul.
If there is a GOD, he must be related to her,
as she owns ever part of who you are, and
she knows ever hair on your head.
Its hot, a desert heat reflecting off the
sand and you are having delusions.
Delusions of the endless possibilities.
With her....
You see a desert Oasis,
You have to stop and take a break, to breath
take in the green in the middle of a scorching hot desert.
A desert oasis, Its like her,
inviting you, to
to have a cold drink from the pool
of cool refreshing water.
No camels,
no people,
just me,
my mirage,
and my delusions of "Love".
Mishaps,
I have lost myself in the delusion of "Love".
seeing only what i want,
believing all that I need,
and feeling only euphoric delights.
Sexual in nature, alluring, inviting,
if she speaks her words can take me places unseen by the naked eye.
Love, in my mirage.
In a scorching hot desert.
She and I could be in a
tropical rain forests, some were
in the Amazon, tropical rain,
dug in deep in a hole,
covered in mud, embraced
naked,
cold,
bugs biting,
humming,
speaking their talk,
as we intertwine,
spreading our vine like
a large green foliage on a tropical tree.
but I have you
jets dropping smart bombs.
I don't have to see were the bomb
will hit,
it will hit its mark.
In your head,
In your heart,
In your mind,
Your minds eye can see,
The one million men trudging across
fields of desolate sand,
Carrying sand colored back packs
full of the necessities to make it another day.
They are prepared to fight,
fight for what they believe in,
they are prepared to even die for what they
believe.
Love, that fickle illusion of a
voluptuous woman, standing with red lips,
and black hair. Her hand on her hips and
her bosom presenting to you.
short skirt, legs bare,
talking, whispering words,
words that you have heard before, but
not like this, as now you "REALLY" hear
the words. Resonating inside of your soul.
If there is a GOD, he must be related to her,
as she owns ever part of who you are, and
she knows ever hair on your head.
Its hot, a desert heat reflecting off the
sand and you are having delusions.
Delusions of the endless possibilities.
With her....
You see a desert Oasis,
You have to stop and take a break, to breath
take in the green in the middle of a scorching hot desert.
A desert oasis, Its like her,
inviting you, to
to have a cold drink from the pool
of cool refreshing water.
No camels,
no people,
just me,
my mirage,
and my delusions of "Love".
Mishaps,
I have lost myself in the delusion of "Love".
seeing only what i want,
believing all that I need,
and feeling only euphoric delights.
Sexual in nature, alluring, inviting,
if she speaks her words can take me places unseen by the naked eye.
Love, in my mirage.
In a scorching hot desert.
She and I could be in a
tropical rain forests, some were
in the Amazon, tropical rain,
dug in deep in a hole,
covered in mud, embraced
naked,
cold,
bugs biting,
humming,
speaking their talk,
as we intertwine,
spreading our vine like
a large green foliage on a tropical tree.
but I have you
similarities,
Push, yelling, pulling,
holding hands, longing,
working with my hands, and
walking with my feet.
I wait
I would walk a million miles if
at the end of the road there
would be a LOVE
Love,
we, people, I, Him, Her
seek it desperately,
passionately,
wantonly,
its a million dollar industry,
disguised as sex,
people sing about her,
they write about her,
they dance to her,
they long for her,
I have only called her "her",
because she has all the attributes of a
fickle woman.
Love
© 2011 Stefanie Stevens
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