The condition of being seduced.

It would be quite impossible to get to me tonight.
I stacked a barricade of all the precious materialistic barriers.
Why don't you shop yourself some lovers?

Tonight my self and my pen play darkness games
of seduction and strip tease.
Lines flow deep and passion
of first kisses and nerves
of sex talk with your parents in the next room.

Tonight the ink flows hot like
sweat and saliva slipping from
metal to paper, like
tongue to flesh.

No
you cannot touch me tonight.

This is a moonrise of
vocabulary orgasms and
sentenced to endless literature tantra.

The ideas slipping in a quiver
of momentary pause-thought.
And the created mention escapes
like a stalled moan
that all efforts could not contain.

The black lines growing, throbbing
thick steaming with mindful evolution.
Threatening to debut the emerging body
tremors of ecstasy pleading immersion.

No
there is no invitation to party-crash the
body rolling
taste licking
nimble biting
limbs entwined
with nails digging
scratching to grasp
the soul beneath
the flesh.

The endless loving
muscles aching with begging.
The tingle of extremities, the
solace of deep impassioned poetic
letter for letter
connecting as bodies and souls
and spirits and complete
vulnerable communion
gifting completeness.

No
it would be quite impossible for you to get to me tonight.
For my written verse and I
hold the begging curse so,
Dear, please lock the door.