prisoner
Would you like a glass of life?
An intimately one for quenching
a mysterious thirst modeled by
a thought, explosively undressed
with a starved kiss, debauched
in a night from a week extracted
out of a month in a fairy year...
Clothes disappeared from inside
to outside burning with the lust
of our passionate rhythm, where
our gazes intersected each other
continuing till our lips met... and
when you stopped to release me
squeezing me with your mind,
in your being, without letting me
feel as if I'd be a prisoner even if
I'm captivated by your nuclear love.
What do you say? Another glass?
Intimately? After all, what booze
can get you drunk, louder than life?
