Question of love

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  • Erotic

    Question of love

    Bountiful curvature, waves of hair
    ponds for eyes like clear cloudless skies
    flaming lips, smooth fingertips
    shoulders like silk, firm as stone
    her glance meets mine with horrific delight
    this one is mine, taken, if just for the night.
    Dawn arrives to rousing affection
    we're both engaged in spontaneous combustion
    heat of her love, thrust onto me
    all time stands still,
    our breaths merge, we cool each other with a chill.
    sweat beads down her skin, across fine lines
    we do not part can only stare, to remeber these times
    lust for leisure love of pleasure, I have found the never leaver
    fruit of the wicked, deed of the dead, neither or either
     was fate that brought her to my bed?


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    Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    Harpingstranger’s Poems (7)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Trapped 0
    Wild Karma 0
    Question of love 0
    The Woman I Want 0
    Guts 0
    Mathmatics 0
    Moonlight/Sun
    light
    0