Defeated Passions

this was sent to me a while ago by a friend. I’d love to tell the story behind this poem mostly because I think it is a beautiful but sad story. But it is not wholly my story to tell. Maybe someday I’ll have the words. But today it is his poem and his story.

There used to be goosebumps
Made out of anticipation and thrill of touch
The touch of both his titillating fingers
And a gentle sea breeze on her bare dark skin

There used to be battling and teasing of tongues
Feasting of warm slimy saliva
Gentle biting and spirited embrace of lips
Sucking of life only to give more

There used to be screams, her resounding sparkling screams
Made out of rapturous energy flowing peak after peak
One nerve fiber at a time
One carnal stroke at a time

There used to be a spring, savoury little spring
That dripped a thousand effervescent droplets
Everytime her body and soul synchronized
In agonizing sensual gratification

And sour creamy extravasation
Made out of ecstatic shuddering of his muscles
Everytime she hungrily engulfed his shaft
And brought him to a vigorous release

There used to be moments, genuine stolen moments
Mellow and teary moments
Red wine and fine beef, white sand and sea shell moments
Garment tearing and naked moments

There used to be eyes, dark naughty eyes
Rugged eyes with a rare charm and humaneness
A stare that could set hearts aflame
And wish gentle caring winds upon

There used to be them, real like sun sting them
Souls itching to discover and adore them
Unaltered, unconcealled, beloved them
Now a lettered alter ego them


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