By the eyes put on a spell;
Such wild fire in the soul,
atraction, desire, need that burns in hell;
The want for touch,
that wich is missed,
to ask, not much;
Pay not attention to the ryme;
It is false like the face shown to the world,
like the fear that creates error,
but an error simply called time;
I am weary of such a mind,
the givings of the self call only
for that wich the self cannot find.
To give without want is a shroud of beauty that covers the long for a touch,
a spark of life, a false altruism at it\'s best.
The touch given, the fire lit by the spark,
now come the rest.
Were i not asleep, i\'d say a thought just ran by me.