Slithers through the heart strung veins,
Claiming every mortal fiber.
Alight in its wicked reins,
Its urge turning us to fire.
Fingers dance on naked flesh.
Bodies writhe, thrust, and plead.
Digging deep, its calls distressed.
Give in and fulfill its burning need.
Fall into the blissful state,
Desire brings it bound prey.
Grind, arch into your mate.
Find ecstasy in the risque.
Lust, I’m told, it is a sin,
And only the selfish win.

Imaginary Whims

Wish the image in my mind

Could be put on paper

Pristine, crisp


Abstract, colourful.


Sometimes I succeed with words

But not with pen, pencil, paint

On Canvas

or Paper.


The image in my mind

mocks me, taunts me.

It wants out

It wants more


But I cannot fulfill its imaginary whims.

And it hurts my soul.