I Make Love to Myself: II

I make love to myself
as your words make love to my mind,
in their sensuality I am engulfed
an invitation that cannot be declined.

Precious moments are snatched in haste
from our mundane everyday lives,
sharing this microcosm of cyberspace
minutes to become intrinsically intertwined,

I make love to myself
while you make love to my mind,
creating a vivid dreamscape
a fantasy that at night come to life.

You cease to be ephemeral
to become virilely tangible  
carrying us to heights so celestial
that the prohibited becomes allowable.

I make love to myself
and your words make love to my mind,
they could fill tomes on my shelf
but they refuse to be thus confined.

So, dependent on the precious ink you dispense
to get the fix that my vice demands,
amorous scriptures given to an audience
of faceless, nameless lasses and lads.

I make love to myself
as your poetry makes love to my mind,
awakening my deep sense of self
and a passion that for so long slept resigned.

Gypsy Red