Passion Without Flesh! Poem by grim blackhart

all day i picture curves arching under me
dripping the sweat of passion, the heat jeering
at the bodies we use to strain for pleasure.
equated by no other we quest together for the
coolness and calmness that follows it.
tonight i must make this image into reality...
i cannot live on images. substance craves
veritability of pleasure, not phantoms of fever..
each moment streches into eternity; i long to
rn my hand down the spine, lick a line of shivers
along the spine hiding behind you. soooonnn...
i will love you softly..