And I But Tremble As I Take Her Hand

17 Feb


She is e’er bold in her presence,
not of the garments she wears,
nor of her painted expression,
but her infinite gaze, it astounds;
she wears her smile as tho’ plain,
yet, ’tis not without great ardency,
the wealth of her passion unfolded,
as with each turn of her lips desire;
with her interment now in my heart,
and maddening throes of her flesh,
which had laid in respite too long,
some carnal catalyst has moved her;
she fought well against her morals,
and now, in contrast, her mischief,
that want of flesh too strong a tide,
and she bids me now, command her,
as she no longer has reign of her own;
and I but tremble as I take her hand.

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Posted by on February 17, 2016 in My Poetry



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