I am in thrall to my own torment of longing. My sensual senses are as sharp as the honed fangs of a new born vampire. Allured by the passion from the fields harvested by the depth of my desires that I am unbeknownst to. I am young and almost inferior in the field of love. My expression is harsh sometimes I moan due to the heat from the welt of eroticism that exerts the inconceivable amount of pleasure. I crave what I have never tasted like a poor child craving food he’s never ate. Constant arousal has become a tree that grows but never dies. I am wanton it’s unbearable. I do not long for being worshiped, the hegemonic feeling in me commands me to show one love that he’s believed to be absent. The kind of love that he has never heard of even in the scribes of love. Love that is audacious, love that seeks no authority and one that exerts affection and love without an apology and not expecting more back. Such longing couldbe deemed for just sexual pleasure but it’s nonetheless spiritual. Cause through my blood I could feel a glowing magnificent hand touch me within. I will pulse, spasm as the electricity spikes through my blood stream. It’s not naivety when I know how to choose the recipient of my heart. They have always fallen in love with me but I have always fell in love with what is off limits because it’s undeniably who I am. I love a little adventure because it scares me shitless while it hones me sharper. I will not bat my wings all over the place like a headless chicken. Patience may not be my virtue but I will not throw myself into the lustrous flames only to endure pain than love. I bid my eyes to notice he who comes with bad intention or dark desires to rip me from my pride and beauty until they become blinded by the grace and halo of the one man that is meant for me.
It is a promise.