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Slavish Chords



A vintage vase sits center the table,
cut crystal bearing no floral décor.
Still it dares to catch the sun,
recklessly scattering fragments of light
throughout the spacious room.
The dainty flecks of starlit charm
lave across a curve; a feminine form.


My tempter sits center the room
poised and naked; a beauty stilled.
I nod and she begins to tease cello strings
and press her breasts against the warm, smooth wood.
Her thighs tighten 'round it, bracing the instrument.
She closes her eyes and fills the air with slavish chords.


My hunger surges from my center,
with every clef met by urgent bow strums.
Her hair elicits my desire as it streams down
her body like an elixir of love.
I succumb to the privy seduction
and approach her--halting the euphony.
I set the instrument aside, and lift her chin.


She longs to be center of my attention;
a fragrant vision to taunt my senses.
She kneels down--daring to surrender.
I grasp the back of her hair, next her scalp
and swiftly lift her up to kiss her gasping mouth.
Can she endure the ravaging that'll sate my thirst?
I'll recklessly sup from her spring like a ravenous fiend.


(Only reckless poetry would dare to present an empty vase)


© 2015 blue angel
blue_angel
Written by blue_angel
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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