It’s Never Too Late
“You miss 100% of the shots
You don’t take” Wayne Gretzky
I’ve chased the grey flannel ghost
His homeland and back I’ve come
Suckling rattlesnakes in the Arizona
desert beneath a star ravaged sky passing
to the
Port of emotions
Did we ever believe
in the fantasy
Slow Burn
You know nothing of how the dark
Ocean calls my name
be it the slow ebb
serenity promised like a succubus
Deeper she trills
pushing and thrusting through the depths
consciousness unbound
slow release
Just enough
to get the juices flowing the right way, that’s the excuse
the truth is the burn and slight dalliances within the mind so subtle and sweet are too seductive
some fall victim, others feign control, even more just
ACCEPT
It’s the price of
Dancing with the muse at the edge of the page