Softly
my insides burn
upon the gradual unveiling of want,
its rough religion
which sought to recite itself
as a monologue
knowing that strength is depleted.

Your eyes
swiftly glance and thumb through
like a manuscript,
your hands
touch me in places unnameable
as though
aroused by the thought of corrupting
sweet innocence,
before you
I have never been so conscious of my own body
in my own clothes.

Come
align your soul,
come
align your raring senses
this path
you have set me on will make you redefine urge,
its erotic fragments.
I want to seize your throat
and pin you hard against the wall,
trace my tongue
and kiss along the edge of collarbone
until you give in
and thrust your manliness into my flower zone.

Crimson
is the colour of candour
that rushes to greet my flesh
and blood,
mine is the fire that conquers lust
devours
sootiness of debauchery until its effect
has worn out.
To the bemused corner of bearded lips
I smile
and plant a kiss,
knowing I had awoken something pure
and unfeigned
inside of you that will never sleep again.

 

Photo credits: My Pretty Pink Flower by Jindra Noewi

For Anmol’s Guest Prompt  🙂

Posted for ‘Poetics’ @ dVerse Poets Pub

And on ‘Tuesday Platform’ @ Real Toads