beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

Rough

Something of the

Barbarian about me,

These days,

Gentle to those

Who warrant it,

Brutal,

In the same way,

Reserving the loving

Violence of my

Soul

Warm enough to wear the

Leather jacket,

The beard, soft like the

Sands after high tide,

Grey like smoke,

Callused fingers and

A supple soul,

Immutable amidst the

Flux,

Made allies of

My shadows,

And bear the storms

And retreats of you

With amusement

Rather than frustration,

I leave bruises,

The hair at the back

Of your head,

A single lock which

Retains the memory of

My grip,

I don’t want to cling

And drain you,

With omnipresence,

But I come and go,

And how it warms your

Thighs at the ease,

With which I do

Both.

Sit on the stairs,

Wearing the clothes

I picked,

I come to invade you,

Soon,

Baby girl,

Soon.

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