There's no metaphor here,
you know that.
Just your precious time that is melting away,
boiling over beneath this red-and-black canvas tent,
one-hundred degree heat.
You can keep twisting at these words,
sweating them out, but you'll never find it:
that passion, that sweltering that was-
(so many moons ago!)-or the way her taste evaporated from your lips at night,
sweetly.
It's only dusty cardboard and cheap paint that stings your nostrils while
seven dollar wages scorch your skin beneath this red-and-black canvas tent,
But still...
That musky whiff of gunpowder
like the smell of her rising up from between her thighs,
her flames licking at your fingertips
beckoning.
A contest entry
- The Erotic Challenge Season 10 by Master Ktulu.
450 points, ended July 22, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Give me your best prewritten poems by Blue-Rose Beauty.
1200 points, ended July 16, 107 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
Yeah, sitting here in the sweltering heat of my living room, in July, after going to fairs and such all day, this really was a coincidental read that I can relate to at this very moment in time more than any other. lol.
-
Wow. That was beautiful in a different way.
Overall grade: 8/10
Thanks for entering -
You have set a very tantalizing scene here. Fitting that it is the 4th of July as I read this. lol
**Master Ktulu**
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