beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

Elephant Factory

Countless memories

Ivory bones,

Rearranged by time,

Unseen by eyes,

Untouched by hands,

But felt with each action,

Here I have no access

Behind the curtain,

But what glimpses

There are, stolen

Like promethean fire,

Your smile,

Emerges to make my heart,

Thump a little faster,

The urge to dominate,

Rising like the tides,

Even the comfortable silences,

Carry their tensions,

But amidst the flux

Something immutable

Remains and there,

It seeks to remain,

Steadfast amongst

The chaos,

Strength taken from

Victory,

Cunning learned from temporary

Defeat,

You have not made me this way,

For I have always been,

Such as this,

And if my grasp

Leaves marks,

Take them as a weaker man,

Gives needling platitudes,

My love is a gift

Offered without expectation,

I act over speaking,

Each finding its own tempo,

To play,

To embellish

The symphony of you,

The machines grind,

Producing a stronger,

More loving man,

To guide you

To such sublime

Depths of feeling.

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