The allure of her face,
the smile that invites my imagination to swim in a sea of infinite possibilities,
All of them more sweet than the last
The glimmer of her eyes that plead with my mind to surrender and break
into a whispering banter of words
Twisted are my thoughts to taste the fruit
The curves, the flow of flesh and bone, the cascading slopes of skin
My eyes grasp for more,
the windows of my mind fling themselves open wide
To devour the body laid out upon the page, or screen, or everyday sight
More! More! My passion screams
More! More! My lust revels inside my head, MORE!
This hunger beats upon the door, and I am left believing, that I have no choice but to unbolt the lock
And fling the gate open wide; hinges creaking in a wining warning, which I ignore,
For what?
FOR MORE!
For more
But, I am a fool
My tongue is dripping with anticipation
and the smacking of my lips drowns my hesitating
I eat and eat of those bodies;
I drink of the turning pages and passing images
My imagination swirls in fantasy; my thoughts are turning red with passion
Oh yes, the gates are open now, and all are welcome
free to come in and have their share
But the silent muffled words rise again
I am a fool!
My own quiet cry
For the thief has entered in and I have let him in
No other is to blame; I have let him in,
with hidden pleasures and quiet hard breaths
The thief has passed the door; the thief has come
for more,
for more
More of me
More of my mind, more of my imagination, more of my every thought
The ropes are bound around my fists; the chains are wrenched tightly around my hopes to change
I am gagged by duplicity; my fiery words are doused
by the drench of hypocrisy
My heart is pierced by shame and fear
I am a captive of this thief, yet it was I who let him in
I gaze upon the face of my captor; I look for some purpose in his eyes,
Some kinds of redemption in his purpose
I find nothing but flesh,
flesh
and flesh!
Dead flesh that masquerades as common life and common manhood
But all I see is flesh, my flesh
My lips begin to search
Where are my excuses?
Where are my arguments and attempts to cool the heating guilt?
Nowhere, they are nowhere, and this is just, this is right
Here the thief cuts a piece, his blade grinds against my soul
The slice is thick; the cut is red and ripe
From my side he tears a portion
From my mind he rips a hefty price