Are you scared of a little threat?
A little rage?
A little madness?
Or is it a little storm?
A little fire?
A little darkness?
Where you can’t stop to appreciate the sun, the moon, or its light,
Because you’re running
When you can’t put up a decent fight or display a little cunning
Does it bother you, a little lust?
A little bust in the frame, so you decide to fold up?
Hole up?
Not show up when I call your name
Not rise bravely to the occasion
Because of a little blame
What’s a little scare in the face of prickled pleasure?
Deviant desire? Wanton wetness?
Experienced expressly, entirely, eternally.
Don’t you want it, even for a little bit?
