"M.S.D."

"M.S.D."

Pressed in time
like I'm pressed for time
just to press against yours.
Impression fine
but I need what's real
so I press,
inclined
as if next in line
ready to claim my fill
and I am gluttonous.
Greedy.
Wants perceived needy
and every bit as much expressed.
Standing to confess
that the stress of it all
thought quelled quite exquisite
with a call
or a visit
has reached past limits
no fervent institution could impose.
Why the rose must wither
before you come hither
is of lasting curiosity.
Perhaps I wear hypocrisy
as that of shrouded confusion.
A contusion
that remains until incision
can bring about some division
between myself
and what aims to hinder.
Sender of parcels
discreet as morsels I've become.
Passion sprung forth
like a drum
bashed and thrashed
in violent sensuality.
Speaking casually...
...an art for the timid.
I it's former purveyor.
I now mingle with the danger
that another few might see.
Let them observe
so long as you hear me.
Love leaving its trace
among the places we'd fancy.
Drinking,
dancing,
fastenings ajar and loosened.
Have I proven my thought's worth?
Has facade become the hearth
on which apprehension might smolder?
Has one's search for hearts as lenders
kept me from what I've divined?

Yes I'm fine.
Don't let doubt hold you.
Prone to daydream
as I've shown you
but if dreams
could line the walls,
I'd be speechless after all

just left to think about you...

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz