Air of Passion
Mystic crimson-colored engines
hidden in the air but prominent in the groin,
pumping passion through ambrosial channels,
dancing between two lovers and
inviting them to the dance,
swirling their graceful arms to the
rhythm of the poetic air,
and despotic engines with their utmost strength
pulling them into a realm of oblivion,
stealing their identity and self-awareness,
injecting them with an aphrodisiacal potion
that fleets directly to the groin
and drags them to the dance,
and engines pumping new feelings in them,
engines manned by the rebels of abstinence
who break the rules of courtship and romance,
who fly through the air with their vile wings
laughing at the Gods of Divinity,
spreading their own truths
about the morality of lust,
ever finding lovers to fill
the air between them
and intoxicate them with their magic potions,
those ancient sorcerers who invaded the
the Sacred Garden and who will outlive us all,
and those engines that resurrect our senses,
that raise us up to our own awareness,
that speak to the ear of our hearts,
that consecrate our pleasure that
we knew nothing about,
and who will ever fill the air
with an extreme exhilaration.
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