martyr of passionate imaginings

he knows to come alive, wherever i may be,

created with words on my tablet, for me to see,

not only an image imprinted on my mind,

but, another essence of him, in written words to find.

he lives larger than large in that part of my head

that knows not to go to bed,

for, even, when the head on the pillow does lay...

with my subconsciousness he knows to play.

this lover, this man, this being ever present

to me in my thoughts sent,

your purpose... be to torture me...?... with desires deep

forever me, your prisoner keep?

for will there be a day

out of my head and words, u shall realise, and come to stay?

or, are u simply something there

always present yet...nowhere.

a desire deep, a want a need

a Fata Morgana... just a seed?

to wish u real 

from dreams to steal

or...rather in my head to stay

and thus...ever there...night and day...

i prefer that sweet torture of imaginings

that unrealistic yearning brings,

the pangs of heart the throb of loin

deep sighs and moans  those longings join.

in this case a martyr to unrequited passions i want to be

martyrdom my imagination knows to free!

to bring out the best a wonderful quest

through words and thoughts a magical state of sultry sensuality, impressed.

RB.