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Click hereThis poem should be read alongwith the original "L'Hotel Belevedere" written nearly 15 years ago
::
Poor Esperanza lies buried
in a shaded meadow
of dark cynicism
but I've returned.
The alembic is long gone
but there is maybe
just a hint of musk
hanging on the second floor.
An act of madness maybe
but the queen of dark and secret places
is my companion.
We are wayward
children of a desert god,
spawn of cool suburban piety,
committing wilful infidelities.
She is lithe and tight
and moist.
I offer up two fingers
coated in her nectar.
She looks perplexed.
Later I still smell her on my fingers.
She says she's happier now.
The ghost of Esperanza
whispers in my ear.
::
that colors the eroticism. This is all to the good, in my opinion, as so many erotic poems at Literotica lack complexity (and, hence, eroticism). I'll be leafing around in your "backlist" over the next few days. Looking forward to reading more of you.