Turmoil For Skin

Pure hunger, looking at her.
Pure desire, the want to touch her.
To kiss her neck. Bury my face in her hair.
To smell the warm clean scent of her skin.
To taste her pale, rose petal lips.
To touch every part of her.
To know her body and it’s secrets.

She stands at the bar, laughing and smoking,
unaware that I am watching, what I’m feeling.
Those dark and tight clothes, that wicked laugh.
The desire comes unbidden, impossible to push away.
Racing heart, so much need, so much turmoil for skin.
She is svelte and strong and exudes passion and power.
I feel helpless in my desire to have her, to gaze upon her.

 I force myself to look away. I force myself to watch my beer bubble.
Even if I could have her, these whims are cruel and merciless.
The skin and meat that enchants me so easily, that drives me on.
Always wanting these pretty things, to know the pleasures of them.
Passion that breaks me, that curdles in me, that blinds me so.
I look again, so raptured at her, and wish it wasn’t so.
Wishing I could move past animal need and pleasures instinct,
to see only the light that is the heart of a woman.
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