beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

the soul’s weather

To love what moves within you

And must be free to do so

To marvel at the inexhaustible variety

Of your soul’s weather,

The complexities of texture, taste, smell

Small noises of contentment,

I’m not a solipsistic predator,

No drooling wanker could

Know the nuance of what moves me,

The charged voltage of interaction,

A cognitive, tactile gap to be crossed,

To love without a trace of bullshit,

My body is a prosthesis for my

Mind and it wants to reach across,

Not scared nor safe in the vulnerability,

And I make myself worthy through

The performance of action,

The exercise of authority,

Carrying old knowledge and fresh

Experience,

You soothe and anger what is wild within me,

Sat outside your door,

Close the curtains and invite me in,

I will be sweet,

But not always gentle

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