deepundergroundpoetry.com
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.
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.
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