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Jesse Fron Poem
O lover of fates
were the fates to love
would maiden hold
loft your bonzéd hair
or mother gaze at
roots and watered iris fair?
In longing passion
whence crone became,
that jealous fire
which yields one insane,
were Alexandria to hold
all jewéled and beguiled tomes
still not enough to behold
such lovers' hands
as these caress.
Her bosom sold in unrest,
aflame she sets her eyes
to his every move and
his every whim becomes her desire.
Could Eros have borne
with such wings as these
that hold Archimedes
in her heart thieved.
Copyright © Jesse Fron | Year Posted 2022
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Details |
Jesse Fron Poem
Out of my mind, drunk on lust, love
Sweet whiskey lips on tongues tasting
Moisture mixing deep in my chest, I feel it
A dull ache becomes a raging fire
I can't keep my hands to myself
I'm drunk on you, a familiar feeling
But it's scary to be here yet again
The memories a constant reminder
Not to get hurt, tells me not to let you in
I don't want to f*ck this up, I constantly stress
But the sweetness of your words and taste
It keeps me coming back again
Copyright © Jesse Fron | Year Posted 2022
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