Pleasure and pain are deffinetly two different meanings.

Passionate praise.

Sweat dripping down on my eyes, a' blur,
Faison and beauty, lust hungers for her,
Swaying repeated directions, forward and back,
In a timeless motion that never seems to crack.

Painted red and pink in the face, biting my lip,
Curving my pattern and connecting my hip,
Blinding myself with a pleasure so pure,
Purity that ambers and she seems to endure.

Resting my head and slowing the rate down,
Slippery in fact that my tiredness is bound,
Importing my love without speaking the phrase,
She agrees, smiling, receiving her praise.

Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 751 times
Written on 2005-10-03 at 20:37

Tags Warmth 

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Very good indeed. Very passionate without the grotesque words, lovely.