Monday, 3 March 2014

Satyr-Spawn




Stomp and slither;
I thrust and grind my ego down with the thick dripping drumbeat.
My blood rises; the bass line beating my body in waves of sweat-soaked sound
(I haven't danced like that in far too many years).
Hot breath and warm hands caress my skin and pull me into a strangers pulse
And I loose myself in lust-darkened eyes
And the press of hard flesh against my form.
A fierce fever takes me as I melt into a kiss.
Within the flames we find abandon,
Unburnt yet not unscathed;
And your dancing makes me almost wish the music would never end.

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