Solemn and right,
wooden in your non commital resistance;
plying you open for a chance at temptation.
Natural instincts compell you, and nothing else.
Yet I fascinate with the idea of tremulous intoxication,
of when the sun meets the stone on a day left undecided,
of when the sky hands the moon a chance at proximity.
Large, red and toxic in it's nearness and still I shake.
Fiberous filth saturates my reality,
choking my eyes,
pulling all hair on end,
waiting for results of a test I didn't study for,
seeking regulations,
seeking the deadline;
blindly and without regard.