The weevils of lust
worm their way into my dreams
breaching sleep’s stillness.
Penetrating skin,
pores admit a slurry of
sweet obscenities.
A diorama
of desire projected
on a private screen.
A red mouth, wet-lipped
fingers persuade, then demand;
sinews tense on touch.
An endless wheel of
lust inflamed and satisfied
in warm, wet torrents.
This is so true — even when I’m not sure that I want to think of the fantasies that play around my mind, they appear unbidden in a “projected” presentation, through dreams… and then, of course, they “worm” themselves in and cannot be stopped.
Thank you for making eloquent feelings I know I have never been able to put into words myself, RG.
Diorama! A word I haven’t heard in a while, and yet it fits so well. Brava. Very vivid
“The weevils of lust” – so much richer than merely “The worms of lust.” Another example of why I admire you so much. Except now I can’t think of it myself…
o.g.