Lust

This is the most recent poem I have written, which means it's in its third draft or so (the lines between my drafts tend to be blurred).

Letters traced by
fingertips
Words spelled out
lips and hips

Waters we taste
long slow sips
Flowing that builds
drips and tips

There is language
bodies know
Motion in time
tell and show

There is passion
sweat and breath
Heartbeats that stop
little death

Reviews

[Emily B]

It sings. Well-crafted and flowing and clever. You didn't let the rhyme interfere with the flow that is the mark of a practised writer.