It is the peak of it
She thinks,
The top of the roller coaster
From here its all
Down hill,
If she does not engage it,
Make the most of it,
She will regret it,
Not love, not exactly,
Not mere lust either,
This mingling
This tingling sense
Of something inside
Stirring,
A witch’s broth
She stirs
Yet has no control
To try and stop it
Makes no sense
She will still feel
The need,
Just who matters less
Than the act,
To feed this beast
All men lust after,
If she does not feed it,
Time will starve it,
The worms will eat
The remains – as
Shakespeare once claimed.
Best to give in
And feel it live
No comments:
Post a Comment