Unlocked Art

Here, where the gentle silence lifts the tone    
Of passion's fabric with stiletto heel,  
Do senses skim delight, or does my moan,    
When offered up to you? And can you steal    
My futile fantasies? Or just insist    
They're far away, where truth is never lost?    
Reality can flee, if conscience sticks    
In craws where it's unspoken until tossed    
Deep into torrid tempests that would not    
Allow us to escape; so will we be    
Captive in all we see and feel and spot?    
Or liberated? That's the fucking key    
To silent latches lifted; each admits    
Creative love: where unlocked art so fits.