The glowworm is alight,
Within its own life,
Subliminally slowly burning,
Till flesh is wantonly impassioned.
Her lips are wet,
She breaks out in sweat,
Glowworm burns from stomach to chest,
Stirring prickly heat across her breasts.
Her legs baked a tawny hue,
From a day’s play in the sun,
Or is it the glowworm finishing touch,
Having fevered young flesh ado.
Her legs spread involuntarily,
For her dream man to imagine,
Her hollow faintly smoldering,
As desires keep fuming,
Her mind is aflame,
She has no shame,
A man has set her on fire,
The glowworm is deep to tumult her darkest desires.
She arches the nap of her youthful back,
With pleading the glowworm burns deeper,
A shutter takes her body and soul,
She trembles in lost control.
Odors of the night arose and awaken her,
As tears filled her eyes,
She waits for a man she has yet to meet,
“But at least I have my dreams” she weeps.
She spreads her legs on crimson sheets,
And touches herself until sleep sweet,
Once again takes her to that place,
Dark and deep and to the poet of her keep.