To the Scoffers of Sensual Writes

To those who think that poetry must be of lofty things, not sensuality To those who write of stars and sun and moon and who to romance will not ever swoon To those who write of angst and misery of all that has gone wrong in history To those who think I write frivolity and read not what I write: an oddity! I write to you, and all my thought's I'll bare and see if you can argue if you dare If you’ve forgotten passion's blazing fire Or how consumed your heart was with desire If you’ve forgotten romance in the night Or making love in early morning light If you’re denied the thrill of ecstasy And can’t bear witness to its urgency If you have come of age when health concerns are all of life that now your mind discerns I tell you dear, the fault is yours not mine Devoid of love life meets not plan divine The gift of love is granted from on high You can’t deny that even if you try the pleasure’s woven in anatomy He formed and blessed our sensuality To reproduce was in his own design But also to enjoy the act sublime There is a little bud that’s meant to thrill It’s only use is pleasure to fulfill So tell me, what is life if not for this To show commitment with the sweetest kiss In right communion to be drenched in love And in its throes to glide to heights above My fellow poet, write of lofty things And all the finer thoughts that wisdom brings I pity you for love and passion’s reign Has banished you from glory with disdain All nature and all life with love is mixed And so my mind with passion is transfixed It’s love that makes this world go round and round Without it, best be buried underground. Eileen Manassian