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Click hereIn the beginning, there was the fire, which was
burning in lustfully glooming eyes.
No words to speak,
No letters to write.
Two bodies, stark naked, carved from human
beauty, were touching with reeling senses in the
garden of desire.
So turgid his length,
So moist her depth.
They fought a battle to seize each other's heart and
soul, like the sun and the moon in the sparkling sky
rival to rule day and night.
A wuthering stab of his manly height,
Warmth and tightness welcome him at her gate.
Beads of sweat, pouring from their heated flesh,
sparked off their tingling minds, which were
suffused with echoes from screams of delight.
Ecstasy shatters her feminine sheath,
Rising flames of lust burn the roots of grief.
In the end, there was the love, which is pulsating
still in the words spoken by their hearts.
~ * ~
© Auden James
(to be read aloud:)
'though I had sworn by my heart
to never complain about art
now I do and that's a start
a poem's a river that flows
yours got no rhythm that goes
try it again but don't push to hard!
MfG Tom
Being fond of the idea by my favourite philosopher that poems constitute or generate their own language, I can easily find this exemplified here. Well done.