Saturday, October 18, 2008


She stares at me, this thing
that warrants no reply,
True warmth grasps and takes hold,
in a way I can't deny.

I hear her call, and beckon me,
beyond what I can endure,
In truth such warmth is in me,
It's the rest that stays impure.

A sultry pose, a warm embrace,
A tender kiss that leads to sin,
It's the lustful sounds of pending night
It's the me that cannot win.

She tests me, holds me, conquers me,
A test of wills indeed,
And as I fall to take a breath,
It's the me that won't succeed.