The Other Woman

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  • Passion

    The Other Woman

    The sound of shells cascading to the earth is reminiscent of bitter rainfall.

    Salty sweet upon these loving ears.

    Nostrils flair at the seductive smells of gunpowder.

    My heart flutters as I slowly slide supple rounds, oh so passionately into her sacred chamber.

    This heart doth cease as my finger finagles its way to her trigger.

    She moans as I apply judgmental pressure upon it, exploding with a load powerful enough to kill.

    She is safety and protection wrapped coyly in a blouse of danger and addiction, stealing away my mind at every opportunity.

    She is loyal till death as I to her.

    We shall dance this wicked rumba rallying others to the dance floor until the end of our
    time.

    She is My Bonnie where I am her Clyde, no lie betwixt us only secrets do we share.

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    shakeme4life commented on The Other Woman

    11-15-2009

    This poem is racy and sexually charged, but a clever usage of words...Congrats

    WinterFrost commented on The Other Woman

    05-14-2009

    I like It's a nice day for a shotgun wedding (place billy idol sneer here)

    Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

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