Unrestrained
We have let the animals out;
moonlight flees from the tousled bed.
Passions speak loud yet wordless.
Impulses drive deep into that frenzy
poets call ardor.
A macabre shadow dance.
paints the walls
with a leaking erotica.
There are instinctual movements,
creatural sounds -
the cry of storm gulls,
and wilderness wolves.
Jungle cats prowl
through the heat of flushed flesh.
Then the breathless little death
of the beast,
as bliss and quietus envelops.
Once more a savage kingdom
lays down with tender whispers.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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