There is a sense that writes desire on your face for all to recognise. There is the way you dress and show yourself, the wild expression in your eyes. There are no limits to what you offer me, your skin, your hair, your smile. There would not be an end to desire here were I to stand right by your side. There, your wish meets my temptation running to avoid your slight. There, all I know would take me wholesale must certainly be put aside. There, are the thoughts of what could be if your cupidity finds a match in me. There, are the glimpses of contrition, of sentiments I know would be. There, still the symbol, that hip idol your disposition is keen to imprint. There, the reflection, wire-like tension the pungent traction of what I see. There, the open neckline, your naked belly, terse, white and painted to draw me in There, the scant, loose and waning clothing ramming desire to its end in me. There, in that odd street corner you offer everything I cannot have, there, in the nature that would draw me, hankers desire for your bright prize. There, standing by the supermarket, I see you selling your life away. There, in your streetwise alertness you'll burn the best part of yourself.
Gorgeous