If you wish, you can view a reading of this poem at the following link: http://youtu.be/jLiIu3kAgQM Hope you enjoy guys!
What line was supposed to pass these lips;
I have forgotten. I have forgotten too,
if I could move continents, to escape
the bullet of broken glass, plunged into my soul,
no heart beat would last too long
between decision, and surrender.
I was whole and complete,
but this I have forgotten too,
my soul succumbing to the touch
of gentle bribery, the sweat on your palm
that you have tethered to my face
being the ambrosia I have desired
for longer than words can caliber.
You whisper into me, the beating of a passion
so inducing, I become comatosed
in a wet dream, drowned in an ocean
of wicked delights, whose pleasures
reveal themselves when the silver moon
sheds its veil and stares longingly into the darkness,
and onto our duvet. ‘Do you love me?’
I ask, between choking on tears,
held back by the damming construction
within my mind, that wishes for you
to never see the softer side
of this weaker denizen of man.
Upon a sea of angelic feathers, my romance,
ever blissful, has flown, your response
to my question, which renders Hamlet moot,
requiring an immediate appearance,
before I collapse into the sultry sweat
of delusion. Your answer, with its many tendrils,
ensnares my cultivated attention
evermore, and with but a word,
you become the Goddess of our seven continents,
rendering the other women,
forgetful images of my mind,
destined not to be remembered.
Without sexual synergy, we remain
inexcusably entombed in a shroud
of fortunate purpose, the touch
of your fingers on my cheek
being the entire collection of love sonnets,
penned by Shakespeare’s hand.
Your voice, so undoubtedly serene,
deserves nature’s ownership,
so it may forever play on the breeze,
the lyrics of your serenade
belonging inside the ears of all.
Your center, a moist pleasurable locale,
dripping with erotic trepidation,
ravishes my senses without even a single touch,
the sight of your nude form
deserving only to be strummed by my hand.
So, I ask again, what fell forth
from between my lips before; ‘do you love me?’,
and I die in your arms
from this orgasm, as I do every evening
that begins with the deflowering
of our perspiration’s sweat.