Silent Storm

Seven in the nightWhen the last of the light disappears into the horizonSouls are at seeming ease, in perfect conspiracyQuietly on the prowl for milesSeeking for even the brevity of smilesHinted with the briefest of naivetyTo complete the symphonyWhat else can be done? Maybe more?Before the night darkness envelopsAnd the full moon brings out the owls and the howlsJust some of my juxtaposing musingsSee I have been toyed with.Embarrassed and humiliated.How many times now?Though I cannot well remember,For my thoughts are rambled and scrambled in more waysThan a hooker laysOf what use is it to remember well anyway?Another one bites the dustNow the piper demands paymentWho will count tonight’s sighs?Caressing my veinsSurging blood moves my penOn paper moistened by bound blood, tears and cheap winePondering what is the texture of desire, volume and pitch of loveAnother one for the winding road