When

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When I come to you
You'll be there
Waiting for my touch
Wanting my burning caress.

When you come to me
I'll be waiting here
Sharp anticipation
Mingling with my desire.

When I touch you
Discover a kind of pain
Buried in your frustration
Caught in aching release.

When you touch me
I arch my entire body
Moaning a strained protest
Which means nothing at all.

When I love you
I feel your every motion
As if your every pleasure
Were my every passion.

When you love me,
I feel I'd die without you,
Pleased beyond mortal pleasures,
Living passion in your arms.

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KOLKOREKOLKOREalmost 17 years ago
When - and what about every thing else?

Frankly, with this one I would have asked (if I could): could you take it back, then think of one memorable time, and revive it for us in the poem. It's not that the habit form in this poem dooms it to sound less authentic. It just means that you face a much greater challenge to both summerize your feelings (for you they feel real and concrete) AND conve them in a way that would feel real for US. <P>

When you conclude at the last stanza: "When you love me,/I feel I'd die without you,/Pleased beyond mortal pleasures,/Living passion in your arms" I very easily recognize it as I hear the echo of many other love poems. But I'd rather feel that I am hearing of YOUR love to the one person. That part did not materialize for me here.

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