Art of Intuition
Blind folded my senses rise,
To compensate the rest,
A game we play to maximize,
The climax as it crests...
A momentary state of mind,
Of permanent excess,
To hear her closing every blind,
Then taking off her dress...
On my knees I felt the floor,
In places that she's been,
Finding scented lace to lure,
The animal within...
That wanted to be hunted,
And yet needed to be tamed,
By the thing I wanted,
She exposes with no shame...
As she became the scripture,
Of my cognitive ambition,
It framed her naked picture,
As the art of intuition...
Terry
WWW.WhiteLionPoetry.com
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