Burning Desires
Hands that are cold on a body that's warm, passions unbridled, secrecy sworn. Inhibitions abandoned there is no shame. Drawn to each other like the moth to the flame. Bodies entangled, emotions are torn out of desperation a hunger is born. A hunger that grows and feeds on itself, not wanting to stop, in spite of myself. Falling into you, as you fall into me wanting all the more to be finally set free. Free of this driving, yet hungry desire entrapped in your flame to be burned by your fire. Written October 19th, 2001 © on Nov 06 2001 08:07 PM PST, Deborah Wolz 0 • 16
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"Hands that are cold..."