beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

The cold commute

Attending to my

Purpose with the

Blithe animal focus

Of discipline,

A heat, turned to fuel,

Pooling in my bones,

The fur bristling with


To leave you safe and

Warm in bed,

The mingling ache

Of my attention

On your skin,

Bruised and sated,

A cup of tea,

Going cold on the window sill,

I carry the perfume of

Your skin with me,

Wear it like armour,

A fondly recalled melody,

Hummed to lend speed,

To my progress,

Coffee sparking my attention

But the taste of you,

Remains with each swallow,

And the grey block of hours

Cracks before my will,

Until I return,

Allow you time

To recover from the

Force of my passion,

To have fucked you,

And made it hurt with

The polarity of it,

My raw maleness,

Now harnessed to honour,

A wealth saved then spent

Upon my return

Before my arrival,


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