- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Tempests
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... when blinded by the storm...
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Like the zephyr breeze, he came to me,
enveloping, caressing,
Gentle passion, wicked intention,
numbing and blinding mind and soul
till naught was left
but the fevered desire of weakened flesh.
Like the desert winds he came to me,
spinning gold dust and devious chants,
no siren song, but the sirocco hymn
of fluid melody and structured lies,
a dance too inviting to ignore.
The proffered hand I grasped,
the honeyed lies I devoured,
the mindless feast I entered,
a willing slave, a devoted fool,
deaf to thought and caution,
heeding only want.
And when the tempests left me,
wasted and spent,
no afterglow bathed this sodden heap,
no cherished memories lingered,
only the quiet pain of guilt and misgiving
... amidst a shower of mistral tears.
- COMMENTS
29wordsforsnowalmost 2 years agoHeartfelt words.
The hungry heat is almost palpable, and when
the fire's gone, one's thirsting for the more sating warmth.
Piscatorabout 2 years agolovely - somehow bought to mind a Joni Mitchell's Carey
The wind is in from Africa
Last night I couldn't sleep
Oh, you know it sure is hard to leave here, Carey
But it's really not my home
Paul4playabout 2 years agoCaught me up in the maelstrom!
And then dropped me, a “sodden heap”…
Excellent!
