Exaggerated Blasphemy

[Baker]

Follicles calmly caress my cheek
chronicles of thoughts start sending me to sleep
feeling the luscious embodiment of chest hair
escaping my ignorance, leading my affair
my heart swims in irony, lulling its despair
so funny to consider that I don't even care

your chest tickles the fantasies of my subconscious
fearing these hairs may turn you or I obnoxious
what paths my age lays out is so far unknown
what future concerns me is that which is not yet sown
you and i both know it is not age that makes one wise
though it all may merely be my own foolish pride

I follow your looks and see emotions in your eyes
the windows to the soul, clues to reasons why.
why you look at me like you do, what is it I really despise
perhaps the questions to secrets that are not yet lies

the fun police know i'm not done yet
the suns release lets us romance a bit
but at the end of the day I feel a child again
leaving the role of parenting on your side as a friend

I want to trust you, and something seems to prevent this
I think it's the time of year, silly season adventist
that makes me question my ignorance and question my ways
so know this one thing, and know it well
the eye of the perciever and the direction belligerence sways
determines my willingness, in such evolutionary days

I don't mean to be dramatic, It is not my intention
creativity is my aphrodisiac, open to interpretation
mental masturbation, without creative inhibition
what a fantastic world this is, led on intuition

your own internal thoughts sit on top of my mind
as I imagine your chest pressed up against mine
sweat drips down off the tip of my nose
as I conjure up pressures in an orgasmic spine
building so fragrently on simple prose
These words mean nothing, just an excuse to rhyme

This climax astounds me, of generous words
my feelings my thoughts all contortedly absurd
so I question your benevolence, your tolerance of thought
philanthropic philosophy for wisdoms sake
do you accept or do you decline relationships fate

 

[(Wordy)]

It's interesting the turn this takes, as you start to turn your eye towards yourself as the writer / fantasiser, and there's a sense of shame in what you're doing, or else a lack of complete letting go... the last few stanzas read like a series of disclaimers!

Nonetheless, there are some clever / amusing rhymes, and these lines intrigue me:

why you look at me like you do, what is it I really despise
perhaps the questions to secrets that are not yet lies