Hot smooth curves
of pearl pink flesh.
A sculptured nautilus
breathing the comfort
of a sun-tipped sea.

At this still and silent and secret hour
I lust for more.

So with raging hope we struggle daily;
we’re told it’s a dangerous dream,
but just, we think, just maybe…

And as the burning sun bursts
through to where we, entwined, are lain,
I cling to love,
I cling to love,
in this crushing cold world of pain.

Poetry by iRate
iRate Board – iRate Images – iRate Music – iRate Networking – iRate Space – iRate Tumblr  – iRate TV – iRate Twitter


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