This Poem was Submitted By: Joe Gustin On Date: 2014-11-29 23:46:36 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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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?” 

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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