My Poetry

I don't know if my poetry is a cure or a disease
My words hang on in my mind like a fly in a web
Endless thoughts of touching you tease my mind
Every silky thread holds a tender moment of you
We're taken by loneliness so we fill the vacant spot
This is our disease to be held by hands with a band
A piece of gold holds our ring fingers we are not one
The only cure is the tightness we feel against one another
Our web crosses as our words mix together
Lethal, sensual and secretive we try to cure our disease
This poetry heals our pain but only for a moment
We return back to our lives fighting our disease