Beautiful craving,
Laid out bare before me.
Oh, to taste of your lips.
Know the intimate sway of your hips.
Just the start of my misbehaving.
Rapture in you I do see.

Still beneath the surface.
Lies something so sweet.
To feel it when lips meet.
Just a tease of your very nature.
Left my hands shaking and unsure.

Lips of cherry red,
Clothes of lace on that bed.
Images of you ran rampant
Through my head.

Lust of the soul,
Longing to be made whole.
This moment of oneness.
Could't make more sense.

Serene Lily, on glass do you sit.
Rain, gentle ripples do emit.
Beauty captured in your reflection.
Await the new spring's Resurrection.

Dormancy your cloak,
To mask the fire of passion burning.
Consume me from within.
Hiding intentions of lust and seduction.
Caress my face with your violent heat.
Moments and memories burst from your peak.
Flows stretch like memories suspended.
In rock as solid as you devour.
Only to be erased at next upheaval.
Ravish my landscape,
Reshape this world.
In an image not akin to the last.
Shatter it all in one intimate moment.
Your design, my calling.

Your Better, that is what I am,
Yourself you do still ****.
In contest, contentment seems to fail,
When poetic minds do contend.
Best regards they do send,
While they pick at every detail.

Creative nature sparks the worst in some,
When coupled with competition.
Enemies like minds do become.
Supposition melded with superstition.

Speak loud your own Voice.
Rather than quell your fear.
Given that dark choice.

Lash with your thorns,
In the end, who's head does it adorn?
The crucible of your own complaint.
Actions raised without constraint.

Hold yourself better,
Creativity to unfetter.
Yet still I am your better.

Evening,
moonlight haze draped as a blanket.
Fallen there.
Across lover's, no longer bare.
Eyes warm with delight.
Stars, as fire in the night.
Raging on,
just as passion may,
On a cool evening in May.

Bound by the whims and ways of others,
Creation there it often smothers...
Pure intention marred in the mire.
Are we not our thoughts own sire?

Bubbling, boiling, rising from within,
Comes emotion enlivened.
Born from wherein I reside

Am I not these words on page?
Am I not what I preach?

Rather that which lies beyond their reach...

Birthed as we are meant...
to grow,
Fate designed
By no means by it defined.