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Some

set your pulse racing, bring a blush, and—
we might coyly admit—can be quite a turn-on.  
 
Some amuse, sparking moments of mirth.  
 
And some challenge, demand attention,  
stubbornly wrestling with a proud intellect.  
 
But some, maybe not many,
quietly knock, wait and enter, gently  
heating, birthing flames in your spirit,  
 
as breath on hot coals.  
 
Their essence extracted, distilled, cast  
into a spell, awaiting  
 
incantation by your breath.


Original
*********
set your pulse racing, and some, we might coyly admit — can be quite the turn-on.  
 
Some merely amuse, tickle,  bringing momentary mirth.  
 
And some challenge, demand attention,  
appealing to, stubbornly wrestling with  
proud intellect.  
 
But some, maybe not many,  
some quietly knock, wait and enter, gently  
heating, birthing flames in your spirit,  
 
as breath on hot coals.  
 
Their essence extracted, distilled, cast  
into a spell, awaiting  
 
incantation by your breath.
Written by SeaCat
Published | Edited 2nd Dec 2023
Author's Note
A poem about poems.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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The author encourages honest critique.

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