Poetic Lust

 
My imagination is a wicked
and perpetually pregnant thing,
breeding after every seeding
of your ink squirting phallus,
that induces erotic delirium
driving me to euphorically create
a magnum opus, erotic nexus;
this cataclysmic copulating imperative
into verses, sonnetic proses
and dark sensual narratives.

Like a lusting, literary whore
I crave the coitus of your words
the sinful, arresting attention
of your adjective and the
manual stimulation of your verbs.
Such are the riotous explosions
of orgasmic delights,
intermingled with forbidden
plots and illicit invites,
they awaken every fiber
of my feminine insight
daring it to challenge you,
to fight you and to finally
submit to the onslaught of
your scribed treatise.

Do me baby… make me scream,
take me to the realms
of wickedly concocted dreams,
where flowing sonnets
extricate my lady cream.
Oh but you are a wild beast
slamming down, with exquisite
intonations, such defiling scenarios
for which you have become renown
you, whom my fantasies crave,
my poetic, dark lothario,
you have raped my soul,
possessed my mind
enchanted my imagination
and laid your claim to me
making my your poetic concubine
forever forced to submit
cleaving onto you and become supine
unable quit this fearsome match
that feels sooo…sublime.  

Gypsy Red
7/6/2013