The Wall


Mine is a hunger of a thousand years
such a yearning that pulses and waits
in the silent gatherings of strength
until I'm ready to lay my pretty baits.
Patterns entice the eye and creates
a sensual glow that draws the hand
my victims hasten toward their fates.
Never ecru and certainly not bland
clothed in colours and very grand,
at touch almost a live warmth ensues
drawing her slowly to closer stand
now at last the time is right infuse.
Such beauty never now to go to waste
deliciously sweet honey close embraced.

Poetry Survivor
Spencerian Sonnet

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byUnderYourSpell© 2 comments/ 1862 views/ 0 favorites

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