Patrick Wescott

Give to me one more kiss.
Impart your spirit on my memory.
Chill my heart with a touch.
Ignite me with a glance.
...

(For Jim Morrison)

The Indian's soul embrassed you,
on that lost desert highway.
...

Once again I've returned,
here I sit watching ghosts.
In the house of the haunted
where I buried the past.
...

Tie me down and set me free.
Peer into me and make me sting.
Flay my flesh, release my soul.
Make me cry, make me bleed.
...

May I come and walk your shores,
would you take me in?
Show me around and
climb the mountains with me?
...

I've walked the streets of London.
Set sail for the shores of France.
Found tequila
on the beaches of mexico.
...

You've turned my world around,
you came without warning.
You've trashed all my views,
flipped my realm on its head.
...

Take a walk down rainbow corridors,
step into the great white hall,
and there you will find the door.
...

Let us tempt fate,
just one more time
just one last time.
Let us bluff the Reaper,
...

Your imprint still sits on your pillow.
Blankets lay balled from your last slumber.
I turned out your light as angels watch,
and touched where you slept and dreamt away.
...

Your shadows danced in and out of my periphery.
You've caressed my mind and gave comfort when needed.
Touches, voices, spirits imparted, and journeys taken.
...

I have hated you with the very core of my being.
I have despised your very existence at times.
My life was shaped by the harsh childhood you bestowed on me.
And yet, I am who I am because of the pain, hatred, and raw emotion you made me feel.
...

The waves crash the shore,
like the thoughts in my mind.
And the storm swells
to the point of breaking.
...

The green glow of spring
hides what happens inside.
New life explodes
to herald in your end.
...

I should have stayed the night!
Car is wrecked as I walk the miles.

Why did we go for a drink?
...

Maybe spring floods can wash it away
the grains of the past that cling like dust
Old town that seems like a stranger
washed into a resemblance of memory
...

My dark southern beauty,
creole refuge to my soul.
Lost like Atlantis,
washed away with rain.
...

Mistsress of the winds
you dance along triumphant.
Twisting and twirling
touching lives unaware.
...

Sorry my good Sir,
I have yet to meet my quota.
I have failed to turn a profit
by all you ask of me.
...

Life can now be measured
and given obscure meaning

Gigabytes of lust
...