Blog Dis

The hero, the hated:
he makes me bloom
then makes me wilt
and yet,

I want to keep his lips
inside a wooden box,
next to my own
he shows me his pleasure,

in his nature, wild.
He leaves the impression
there is no ending.
Either I die or live in his love,

my sensuality is drunk
on the ecstasy,
that he delivers to me.
He is my man exceptional.

COPYRIGHT © Patricia K. McCarthy