This Poem was Submitted By: Joe Gustin On Date: 2014-11-29 23:46:36 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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The Anatomy Of Lust
Oh the lust of this
to taste the twirls and
swirls within
the curls of your
most intimate flesh
To partake the honey
of your skin
lightly tapping
ever rapping at the
door of your passion
So slowly stroking
the small curves and
tiny lobes with
a tongue so
eagerly patient.
Speaking in the
silent language
of lust.
I draw in the dangled flesh
to devour and hum upon.
Tap
Taps
Tapping
out the dreams
of this beginning.
Swirling in
Swirling out
Deeper
Longer
Thicker
Thinner
My tongue knows
well the way
to your very core. I draw back
ever so slightly
and ask
“Do you like it
when I kiss
your ear
this way?”
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Copyright © November 2014 Joe Gustin
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2014-12-03 15:45:53
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Joe, a delicious read. I think, the image is a fascinating as the interaction of the folks. Desire is a special emotion, recidivism is almost always the result; as time recalls and the moment seeks to recreate.
Excellent afternoon reading!
This Poem was Critiqued By: Marcia L McCaslin On Date: 2014-11-30 14:22:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Great title—drew me right in! A few, not too many, rhym-y sound-alikes for my ears to play with while my brain is catching up and while my eyes are reading ahead. Really like this. You take the reader on several intriguing-but-dead-end excursions only to end up…(drum roll) at the EAR. So, IMO, you have just played with our sense of humor, effectively. This one was fun to write, I know. (Isn’t that a good half of it???)
This Poem was Critiqued By: Medard Louis Lefevre Jr. On Date: 2014-11-30 03:14:36
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Absolutely beautiful. I am very jealous of anyone one who can still feel, show/express/demonstrate true , initial (hopefully sustainable, real love), or lust. Now, I only know predictable and constant love and only that which is without much passion (I accept my own responsibilities), only representative of safety and sameness. I recognize what base biological urges are and were, and the initial emotional surges and feelings of being in love that are not just primal but something noble, though I have cynically morphed into the cognizant security of an old person's version of love. And maybe, as much as I would not like to admit, that is my reality of love and life. I am very happy that you are able to write this honest and lovely piece. Thanks, for letting me read it and remember and for allowing me to still dream.
Medard
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