Welcome. If you want truth, you just passed it. This is Idealism.
Me, Playing Poet.
Whispers of Temptation
I, much concerned with life Saw the skull beneath the skin And lustful creatures all around Lean forward with lips full and grin. Dead brown roots instead of balls Drain the attention of wandering eyes
He knew my rambuncitious thoughts Called in by lusts and luxeries. He, I guessed, was a hands-on learner Who could control not his fervor To seize. And force. And dictate.
Calmed by nothing but that which penetrates His flesh knew not patience, His hand an expert beyond experience, My body not yet a temple, And I, quickly lead by harsh desires.
* * *
Summer was nice : The extreme heat Gave way to naked skin For short, but sweet unknown release Giving fruitless promises of bliss.
From a chaise lounge, One can see a world. Observing, planning, asserting. Scheming. Mouth-watering.
From which he pounced; and with quick declaration. "I lust for you" A force on my subtlty. Even the slightest hint Aroused a deeper cry
For flames that danced between To keep the empty warm.
Something more, a little less, and just all around satisfying. A small lyrical, satirical, heart felt, heart melt with a cherry on top for you and your mom.
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