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The diary blushed Beware the man who keeps a diary. But not this man For this man's diary contains nothing more than an Account of his faith and belief in love
He treasured her before he knew her. Loved her long Before they met. He wrote of their meeting being Written in the stars. Stars he gazed upon most nights When the sky was clear. For he knew that somewhere Up there in the heavens lay the answer to his dreams To his heart's desire and to his destiny
And when they finally did meet he and his diary rejoiced He wrote at once about her deportment, her dress and Her style, but more than anything else he wrote about her Eyes. How they sparkled, how they reached deep into his Soul, teasing him, pleasing him, driving him to distraction Before finally closing as their lips met
Opening his diary one morning the pages suddenly flew Into a rage threatening to close again barring entry. What Animated the diary so was sight of the woman so long Yearned for, so long desired, now looking directly into the Pages of a once bashful heart causing the diary to take Fright before swiftly recovering again when the entry for That day ran thus:
Last night I was taken by a rush of love. The urgent pull Of the woman in my arms, her need, my need, colliding At full strength. Nothing left to the imagination, nothing a Mirror could not see and sweat the only lubricant to ease The passage of flesh upon flesh, legs upon legs, lips upon Lips. Her body glistened in the half light as she lay atop of Me and whispered 'Relax' this won't hurt…
The diary blushed – eagerly soaking up every word and Anxiously awaiting the next
© Joseph G Dawson Vote for this poem
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