When I dream, I dream of you
and desires fire to distraction
there is no sweeter cup for me
than the draught of your untasted passion

Let me lift your body to my lips
and wreath it with my heated touch
I shall drink your love so deeply
then empty, I would fill you up

Wind my strength in yours, so tight
till breathing becomes labored
besotted with your merry wine
with ardent secrets flavored

Argent-tongued, a web I’d weave
to net you in it’s strands
silvered lines along your skin
to taste where lust demands

This vessel of precious, precocious wine
gently tugging with tongue and touch
I wish to drain and fill in time
till our passion overflows the cup


© W.R.R. 4/4/2002

About W.R.R.

Bipolar & survivor of incest/child sex abuse and adult male rape; bisexual, polyamorist, poet/writer/advocate & married father of four. View all posts by W.R.R.

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