Mental Confessions of Gentle Caressings
Soft thoughts, and softer skin.
What I want, and the breath within.
A gentle graze along your form.
A mental haze to leave me worn.
Firm plans to bring you round.
Firmer hands to rub you down.
Warm flesh, beneath my palms,
Born tests of keeping calm.
Sweet lips, for me to taste,
And a sweeter soul, a shame to waste.
Small talk, of who will lead,
Then turn of luck, I watch you leave.
-Andrew J. Golubiewski-
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Unknown Source
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| To Lie Upon a Beach | 0 | 06/18/2010 |
| Weathered | 0 | 06/17/2010 |
| Mental Confessions of Gentle Caressings | 0 | 06/17/2010 |
| The Unsuitable Suitor | 0 | 06/12/2010 |
| The Key | 1 | 12/21/2008 |
| Eyes of the Temple | 0 | 12/21/2008 |
| Half the Tale of Two | 1 | 12/21/2008 |
| Pandora's Box | 0 | 12/21/2008 |
| Wall Flower | 2 | 12/21/2008 |
| bRainstorm | 0 | 12/21/2008 |
| A Poor Man's Ode | 0 | 12/20/2008 |
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