#77: “What Science has yet to learn in the Blood”

You know that I’ve got what science has yet to learn in the blood!

It’s a tug of war some nights.

Insights; in me a passion piñata; bashful-now-I-bash myself for less than useful plights.

    Rip off my shirt on site, and beset all inhibitions to the loftiest of flights. You’re not like other women and I don’t ever look too hard for a round of winless fights!

    But, I still base my outlook on convictions and those noble thirty human rights.

    I still beat my fist against brick walls, I still battle demons and the higher that one climbs in a life of epic expectations;

Then don’t underestimate the gravity of falls.

Or, head spinning, as tobacco demons leave thee,

    I want for you to need me!

The how-damn-much you’re wanted near we; 

Verse-by-verse a beckon; a tug of begging; of affections hoping that you hear me, 

Hoping that you see.

Hoping that you see me win!

    Am I weaker because I measure myself in the eyes of woman? 

And truthful make my secrets seen to any looking in?

For my English has no resonance it seems,

I long for you, I need you fierce; my close companion by my side and also in my dreams.

And the Burma nights will unfold in nightly plights and carnal color schemes.

    You are a world unto yourself, if I cannot pronounce your city how will I never speak to your soul? That is my truest goal.

    The moment when our essence and our trust, our common longing makes a good thing whole. 

    She says;You know that I’ve got what science has yet to learn in the blood!” 

    Does a man when lacking bricks build a house from sticks and mud?

    When my heart makes a second beat; is-it-more-like machine gun’s fire, 

Or a door closing with a thud.

    And if I could speak to her special uniqueness,

Knowing my emotions are a liable thing, a source of honest, utter weakness.

    And like some unclassified species of sky bound creature, a shaman or a sorcerous blessing many as their patient friend and quiet teacher; does she who has defied science via the reanimation of her own broken heart;

    Now broken two times, or more?

    Mine four, but who keeps score foreshore!

    Find any solace so to speak in clever words or stone heart rhymes?

Does she who has braved so much and cut off expectations bounds find peace with any kind of poetic vagabond when she is certain of his must intenuous mind.

Rewind.

    Did you like my passion kissing, did you believe my pledging of my world to you in just one month of passion so reckeless and a man so emotionally blind?

    Where was to light a candle for the newness of our kind? 

    She says; “You know that I’ve got what science has yet to learn in the blood!” 

    Does a woman when lacking open feelings build a life where golden cows and golden temples escape the torrent and thwart impending flood?

Eye for eye, a blood for a blood!

The mathematics equated to measure her eye brow to eye brow,

To gauge the hard diameter of her judgment, the softness of her spirit, I vow!

I have battered myself up over hard hearts.

For you I pledge devotion to you until such devotion moves or I am moved by cause and zeal, worlds apart to steal and to heal.

    To battle these tyrants, to open the thick of my heart to the world of the soul, the world we control, the happy in now and the all of the essence since you showed me how.

One day 10,000 miles apart, the light and dark the stop and the start, 

As the thing falls apart; 

You keep me like a steel hand guarding your breast and I’ll wear your spirit and memory over the walls of my heart. And keep you in the chakras that resides from the crown of my head to the base of my chest.

“The rest is the rest, and the test is no test for a holy fool such I, if your soul can make love after bodies do perish what good is the kiss to lips of the blessed?”

When my head’s on your chest! When my fear is all vanquished by your fire and magic and when you hold me close you’re my bullet proof vest.

“I’d never have guessed that in three months of knowing I’d yearn for you this deeply!”

She says;

“Well Alan and I could have guessed,” she says with wink and I stand before her pale blushing and naked; completely undressed.

She says; “You know that I’ve got what science has yet to learn in the blood!”

    What’s love; just a useless word for a volumous thing, is vodka potatoes or when in America called just a spud?

    She does second guess your naked feeling, she has sent you spectral reeling, she is spurred by actions; words are things rehashed.

    “You have a stormy lurid past. I don’t judge you for a minute but I know this thing can’t last.” 

! Pulling-pulling torching feelings supple action frantic dealing!

    She declares “I am a thing unique!”

    Now my poetic leanings have failed me for the last time and once filled with fire, am naked, quivering weak.

    “We like our manly men.”

    “I’ll pull myself together and make myself a thing of manly virtue before we meet again.”

I’m going nowhere, I’m your friend. Don’t iron strike my love and time and break your deals, your promises on this end. 

“What is “love” is officially?” she never asked to me;

Love to me officially is Strast (passion is the basis for us to set we free). 

Loyalnost (loyalty is the basis of all human interactions, those which offer merit, I think we’d both agree.) 

Stojkost (perseverance always needed for what the world will throw at thee) 

And Predannost (devotion is the last lesson in Russian that before you turned numb you taught to me) 

All must be carried out together; fearlessly. 

For another in daily acts of awe,

In your gold brown eyes I saw, warm company and the sheer fire of their soul. 

Love to me means the world is alive again when a person you are devoted to smiles and makes you whole. 

At you they look and such looks into your very being, 

And then on fire you engage the world alive and all awake and loving all you’re seeing. And nothing is abstract or hidden. 

And nothing is secret and nothing forbidden.

You are in the end sharing a fire that lights up the night of life and via being together makes waste of all strife; 

And cold world bright and the sometimes heavy load, eased by living a state of joy is like butter to a knife. 

    She asks,

    “How without science or knowledge did you but two months come to love?”

    “I was dead and it was you who breathed the life into me, and carried me in your arms to safety and as waves crashed below us there were you in passion as we watched the Burma skies above.”

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