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Pick Your Poison

He warms me slowly,
From lips,
to chest,
to toes...
Like a fine wine,
a hard whiskey.
His voice vibrates the tiny hairs,
across the back of my neck.
He smells of danger,
musky, dark,
but tastes like honeysuckle...
My fingers itch to touch him,
He is pure indulgence.
He is sex, scandal,
He is heaven.
I'll sell my soul for just a bite.

Author notes

first poem in years, felt good, but I know I'm rusty.

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Comments

  • Canon
    November 12, 2008

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    Im glad to see your back, I was gone for a few years too. I look forward to seeing more from you. This was pretty good. The feeling of wanting someone that badly hurts when you cant have them and isnt always what you thought when you get them.