Musings by The Poet Loriet
Passion
Passion.
It's the feeling
that reminds me
I'm still alive.
Because of its
recent non-existence,
perhaps that's why
I feel so sluggish.
I need to feel my
blood rush, the breathless
heady feeling of deep kisses,
wandering hands and
wicked tongues.
I am a lover
of no one.
My hands remain idle.
So, what am I to do
with this erotic wanton
trapped inside my body,
electrified
with desire.
Who will tame this
nubile creature?
When will I feel
alive again?
Forget poetry and
sweet words and
candlelight and
rotting flowers.
I need to be touched
like a woman.
Passion.
Lori Beal
It's the feeling
that reminds me
I'm still alive.
Because of its
recent non-existence,
perhaps that's why
I feel so sluggish.
I need to feel my
blood rush, the breathless
heady feeling of deep kisses,
wandering hands and
wicked tongues.
I am a lover
of no one.
My hands remain idle.
So, what am I to do
with this erotic wanton
trapped inside my body,
electrified
with desire.
Who will tame this
nubile creature?
When will I feel
alive again?
Forget poetry and
sweet words and
candlelight and
rotting flowers.
I need to be touched
like a woman.
Passion.
Lori Beal
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Passion
Passion
