‘Aphrodisiac’ – a poem


are all you need to boil this collar
A single syllable: your soul
is worth more to me than every dollar
that every man throughout time ever stole.
For most, it is the curves of your flesh
But for me, it is
the ink trail, the dulcet vibration
of every thought and sensation
of yours, in which I wish to enmesh.
The fire in your eyes as my hands meet your hips;
The moist specks that glisten between
your soft lips
as you gift unto me letters
painting tales of romance and storms
of lovers; entwined and forlorn
Your stories;
Your words:
to any tune, in any font
For these words are you, and
You are all I want.


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