Erotic poetry usually bores or embarrasses me.
Most of the time, I'm bored to tears by it.
Nothing there moves or blesses me.
The sales graphics supposing if I could I'd buy it.
But it's not like that for me, and never was.
When passion's waves caress me, you are near.
It's just that simple, but I want to describe it because
I want you to know ... I want you to hear.
When we share a breath, and our noses slide along one another,
Nose skin singing, rejoicing. Is that not erotic?
The shared breath touches each cell softly on it's way
To our bellies ... our toes. And is that not erotic?
When your soul peers openly through eyes connected
Directly to a loving heart, an adoring heart,
And it's gaze is tenderly met by eyes likewise connected,
And the breath catches in our throats ... is that not erotic?
Tongues and nipples, cleavage and buttocks,
Teeth and lips, vast expanses on radiant back,
Soft, kissable hollows in neck and pelvis ...
These are lovely, of course, but are they, alone and unloved, erotic?
You must agree with me, and you know it.
For we have both dreamed of love, and set the dream aside.
We have both, too, tasted ... nay, drank deeply, erotically,
Of the wines of the breath of passion.
And our hands touch lightly and with love,
Even in the public places they touch one another,
Caress and tease and fill to overflowing with love
And, even in public, are not ashamed.
Love, Light, & Laughter -- BobL
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