Poetry is a venue that allows the freedom to offer temptation
That comes to no end
Bare secrets and desires…that never come to light

To quietly speak deeds undone
Let passions adorn the page
And leave the reader longing

Sample a little of this
Express a little of that
Play at the lover’s game
Something simple
Keeping it tame

Bat of the lashes
Peek of a thigh
A sexy whisper
The deepest of sighs

An as the ink gathers….collecting within the lines of the page
She’ll tremble unto the canvas
Leaving hues of written lust

Desiring her words to erect his stanza
Encouraging him to slip into her verse
Sip sweetly at her honeyed words
Lick slowly in-between her lines

And for that….she will put forth satisfaction
Guarantee that she massages his pride
Rubs his ego
Until his desires explode onto her poem
Leaving him sated
For now……
But longing for more

And in this Lover’s Playground
Where poetry is lyrical foreplay
Can he maintain his stamina……to match her endurance?

Slyly
She’ll allow him to peek
At what she has to offer
Promising to scratch her nails down his back from beyond the page
As she guides him into heavenly bliss

Make it hurt so good…
That he won’t want to replace her
She’ll be drip
Drip
Dripping wet
Damp with sweat
Voicelessly screaming his name
As his body jerks in response to her word game

And the intensity of their union
Will burst into flames
She’ll beg his stimulus….if that is what it takes
Unafraid of submitting to his desire
He’ll get what he deserves
She’ll be mind blowing,
And only to him will she serve

Treat him like a king
Make his mind and body sing
Pleasure untold
Steal his heart and soul……away
With just a little
Simple
Wordplay

And he’ll think their fantasy is a reality?

But honestly, I’m sure he couldn’t handle her
She’s not your average dame
Far from tame
Got a wild streak
Taking prisoners…
For life

She’s more than enough to make a strong man leave his wife

And really the desire to make this fantasy leave the page
Can never be
For she’s in between the lines of a poem you see

Not that she doesn’t warrant his need
To spill his seed
Anywhere he chooses
That she can present

But baby, she’s a fantasy
Nothing more
Nothing less

For she’s alone on the page
That mystery woman
That never seems to age

And a prisoner, I’m sorry, to the page he will remain
This poetic tango, their only chain
And her magic is potent
Creeping up his spine
Intoxicating him like vintage wine
Enslaving him to the page
Securing him within her poetic walls
He at least has that, that’s better than nothing at all