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Heated Passion, Spotted Quilts

Heated Passion

He took a bite out of my heart,

And served me a plate of his.

His eyes lay upon my breast,

Where his fingertips grazed.

Causing me to shiver,

with excitement.

As Passion became thunder and lightning,

Giving tornadoes rise.

Wake me,

When lightning strikes,

Let your thunder

Be my undoing.

Give me a gentle drop,

Upon my rose.

Then may my dove flutter,

At your gentle winds.

We-who will become one,

We-the tornado,

Taking over the apple tree,

We-who are victims of heated passion.

Spotted Quilts

Be that it

The lighthouse,

Which shows

The darkened man,

Who seeks out

The maidens end.

Her heart,

Be not his eye,

For it is her body

That steers all that he is.

He hides his icy heart,

As his mystery and facade

Traps her.


That which has yielded

Nothing but clowns,

And spotted quilts,

To which none but pain may yield truth

and mercy.

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