Torture Controlled

what makes us think there's a chance in hell of anything close to what's been imagined inside our collective minds scrunched behind bursts of laughter during self-infused jousts, complete with scripted scenarios, and perfected resolutions ... nights we were certain could never end sighing beyond tomorrow's lazy ways with one drawn out breath ha! if only ... back in the day, we might have been dangerous had we known of this power completely, rather than wry innocence we walked in unaware, unshackled and now if only, we could conjure up the essence ... she gazed at him with stars and a sassy smile, he glanced politely biting his lower lip, to keep the truth from spilling over this moment. magic for her for him, a perverse type of controlled torture ...