Poems & Musings,  Writing

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I could circle you, ravenous, and take you as my prey,

But I would rather roll onto my back gentle as clouds and let you have me under that watching blue sky.

Control is an illusion but I keep reaching for it,

Perhaps I’ve been waiting for the caress of words; the intoxicating loss of control.

The muse imprisoned, willingly, by her poet,

Bound in the silky-soft restraints from one who understands

The eroticism of bare souls being seen.

-Sara Myriad

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