Passing Tides

I would like to testify…
To the little proclaimed fact,
That conversation, is a part of foreplay.
You see, I need to build, a beautifully founded fantasy,
On the impressions you leave with me.

I can erect a makeshift tent,
In which we can shelter our bodies,
In the illusion of intimacy…
But I recently remembered that I’m not for rent.
So I’m a little too busy for the energy
to invest in a fallacy.

I love the chase.
The sweat on my arms from the hunt,
Makes the taste of the meat amazing,
Lasting,
Filling,
Grasping.
Till, as it should,
It leaves me dazed.

It may take some time,
For the fruit on a tree to ripen,
But pick too soon, and you’ll have missed your chance
at a gushing, explosion,
As ready reward for your patience.

So, take your foot rule,
And measure your options.
If you don’t think your ready to wait,
I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.
The weight of a stone,
Is not measured by it’s speed in a tide,
But by how long,
You can hold onto it.

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