Lusting breathless,
A darker shade, dishonestly worn well.
Innuendos deafening the silence,
In my quarters pen pushing erotic dreams.
Elbow deep in inked archives from these weary mind’s bag of bones,
Whispered voices from the lost dark chastity.
Flickering candle flames highlight up and downs,
These naughty, naughty things that we do.
Hosting the ghost of my outta world sins, lost in shadows,
Behind chamber walls slowly closing in.
My cups of sinful medicine with,
Deep red lips and sticky fingers sequestered in quivering thighs.
Si la poesía es mi vida, entonces las palabras son mi lujuria
(If poetry is my life, then words are my lust.)
