by Abigail Gronway

Who sees the heat that in my core
Has made me burn and boil and sore,
Heat you produced when first you came,
The tender way you spoke my name?
Your smile outshines a thousand suns.
When I’m with you, we’re the only ones
Who ever lived or drew a breath;
To be without you would be death.
You build within such ecstasy;
You whisper, “Baby, come with me!”
The tension mounts, the pressure builds—
Eruption! My release now fills
Your hungry chasm, also sore.
So soon you’re begging me for more.


Copyright © 2017 Linda Luna – All Rights Reserved
from Dark Side of the Moon

One Comment to “Eruption”

  1. Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.

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