A kinetic harangue speaks with such booming presence,
Though it is reclined resentfully far from the minds
Upon which its scorn is projected.
The scent of expatriation seeps through the floor boards
And wraps its cold hands around the ostracized throat,
Surceasing calming breaths and filling lungs
To their utter depths with forlorn passion misplaced.

An alteration; a flip of the coin.

Bliss is drawn upon warm flesh:
A wandering hand tracing halcyon designs of anticipation
Run over aroused papillae,
Sending a tremor to the sensorial base on which is being tread.
A myriad of propulsion; a great sea rushing upon your self.