lust is there.
Lush and sensual.
Delicious bits of carnal misery.
Pornographic moments mimed
in intricate infusions of the times.
Release and relent and then start it again.
As need, once full of beauty, is corrupted.
A burst of seeds is all he leaves.
She bleeds him out in agony.
And they insistently endure the emptiness.
Never really satisfied.
The need for something more
comes back again.
A terrifying kind of inner need.
Building even as it is filled full.
Roaming through the bare and
icy fields of their composure.
The cake beneath the icing crumbling.
Late at night, they lie awake and count
the fleeting moments of their flight.
Grasping for a drifting moment
of a pure delight that isn't there.
It wasn't really loving after all.
Emotion rushing through a touch.
Swelling even as it starts to fall.
The lust is there.
The touch too bare.
The love, so sweet and simple,
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .