The Whip of Your Selfish Whims
O
the bane
of being so slavishly in love,
to face another bloodless sunrise alone.
Myself, I’m spun in silken strands enthralled
yet, still stung by the whip of your selfish whims.
Your fleeting presence flashes like iridescence in light,
an elusive rainbow whose colors escape my grasp.
I pine for possession of one I cannot possess,
my burning being’s bewitched.
This yoke of yearning pliantly possesses me;
ensnaring me in the exquisite twist
of the fervent temptations you weave -
as your amorous play strums the lusty lure
of a gossamer thread I wish to follow to your soul,
whilst my purring thirst is captured -- then ignored.
O
the woe
of being caught
in the frill of desire’s web,
aching for the thrill of arching pleasures,
craving to be melted by our molten fusion,
longing forever, wanting and waiting breathlessly
for your wanton appetite to ravish me
always and again.
Susan Ashley
July 3, 2019
N/A
Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 4
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Poem Of The Day ~
July 5, 2019
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: Slave To Love
Sponsor: John Hamilton
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