Can't We Just Listen to the Radio, or Something?

You can't ask someone why he loves you.
What am I supposed to say, that lust
Came first? It always does, at least,
With me, and it remains. I still begin
To tremble when I see you start to
Walk my way. I watch your steps,
Your swaying hips, and, as you
Near, I feel an ache almost like hunger.
I must hold you next to me, must
Have those lips, those splendid lips,
To mine again, and is it lust to
Thrill to hear your honeyed voice?
I want to rush you to my bed,
But, afterward, I hope you'll stay.
I'd like to hear what you've been
Doing, waiting, laughing to myself,
For you to show your petulance.
The world gets to be annoying.
I'll crack wise to raise your spirits.
Then you'll ask about my day,
And I will say that it was boring
Until I was forced to try to analyze
My love.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 65 times
Written on 2014-11-18 at 19:33

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