What is it that I feel? These sentiments rushing in, whirling inside my mind and body, wearing the masks of love, and leaving me empty, open to the ravages of seduction and temptation. What is it that I feel? This host of untasted desire, these emotions carrying me like the vapors of intoxication to the brink of abandonment and then dropping me, leaving me unscarred, unashamed.
Something in me urging, pushing from my minds’ heart to my body’s edge. This unknown surge taking me by the hand and putting my finger on the trigger of sin. But I do not feel the wrong, I do not recognize the flaw.
Wanting only to taste the body’s form , to take the flavor of the flesh into my mouth, into my arms.
Wanting only to melt myself into the shape and likeness of another self, to lose my form to the warmth of another skin.
Wanting only the pleasure and remote likeness of love to cover me like the breath of one thousand storms. The illicit call of this need beckoning in its voice of silence.
The object of this desire luring me with neither the sharpness of beauty nor the softness of words, but bearing only the cross of his love, and my own restraint. What is it that I feel?
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1 comment:
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