If you knock on our door
While me and my woman are making love,
Won't invite you in,
Even tho that delicious sin,
Crosses my mind frequently.
But this poem is my way of thanking you,
For a vision that makes life just a little
Spicier.
Do I fee guilty? Don't be silly
Desire is a compliment,
It forms deep deep, cored within
The prehistoric part of each of us.
But when it surfaces on the shallow pools
Of our eyes, it feels shallow, only because it's
Tired from its journey from the wellsprings.
But every pool has a distinct outlines,
Boundaries that cannot be exceeded.
My mind is not a pool.
Now, I am sated, but still hunger.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 5:56 AM UTC
If you knock on our door
While me and my woman are making love,
Won't invite you in,
Even tho that delicious sin,
Crosses my mind frequently.
But this poem is my way of thanking you,
For a vision that makes life just a little
Spicier.
Do I fee guilty? Don't be silly
Desire is a compliment,
It forms deep deep, cored within
The prehistoric part of each of us.
But when it surfaces on the shallow pools
Of our eyes, it feels shallow, only because it's
Tired from its journey from the wellsprings.
But every pool has a distinct outlines,
Boundaries that cannot be exceeded.
My mind is not a pool.
Now, I am sated, but still hunger.
Honesty is the best policy, not.
FPotD (first poem of the day)
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