Something of Myself

I am tired to my bones right now. I have a slight fever too. But I could not help myself save to come up to the laptop and start typing the stuff which "dreams" are made of. So here we go: of course, as stated in my earlier entry - "creatures of purpose" is a term originally used by steve and I want him to get all the credit - I am using it because I find it too beautiful to be unused:

Creatures of Purpose, are we?
What purpose does Love hold?
What purpose does Longing breed?
What purpose does irreristibility signify?

If we are creatures of purpose
Should we abandon purposeless desires?
Should we merely simulate and revel in our simulacra?

I want to take you for granted.
I do not want any purpose between us.
I do not want any relationship to define us.
I want to rest my head on your shoulders,
I want to talk about my dreams,
I want to lose myself in the wilderness of your depths -
And then amidst the unfathomability of your beauty,
I want to listen to what you want to do.

I want to let this happen - forever
Almost in a cyclical way
But never becoming monotonous.
I want both of us to be taken for granted by each other and then start all over again.

Is that possible?
Is it essential to make any kind of START?
Does it need to "start" in order to be purposeful?
Doesn't purpose have a built-in expiration date etched on it?
Are we always to be creatures of purpose?

So be it then.
Let me forget myself;
Let me drown my past in a double shot of Jack Daniel's and coke,
And then let me loose all my inhibitions
And tell you
That --------
I am not here for a purpose.
I am here for you.

I am not a creature of purpose.
I am a harbinger of desire,
Of desire that is lustless,
Of desire that is loveless,
Of desire that is nameless,
Of desire whose only definition is desire itself,
Almost making it selfless.