Will you get soulfully dirty in my words?
Plump up yourself with conceptions of me
I am hunting for an incense of cinders and petals
Old pages now cinders of my minuet’s of solitude
Tawny petals stitched with love lace is now my skin
I am fertile with comings and goings this day
Can you lay with me and countenance my thoughts?
Tatter your fears with a dance of serendipity
I have a tempest opus in me that kicks and tumbles
Take my pointed past and chip my granite of regret
Hitch up your dragging doubts and ride my prose
My saliva paints my moist tempting paragraphs
Or am I not the wine that the waiter should uncork?
Hunger pains may juice your creative spark elsewhere
This does not suffocate my naked desire to be seen
I see you stare as I eat the leftover cinders and petals
A nourishing feed of the past and the reactive present
How does one respond to intangible sensual musings?
Risk words that will lay upon my breasts in sweet linger
Feel with your heart and keep your logic in your boots