Desire laughs at tawdry
years, at softened flesh
and worn skin; mocks
the wrinkled realities

which time does bring,
because it is beyond
such trivialities and
petty concerns, running

deep as it does, tapping
into the river of Soul,
drowning in the depths
of delicious, liquid love

which flows in bright
waves, beyond borders
of the merely material:
Desire cares not for

years, or age, or the
frayed and wearied
edges of life, but sees
only the source, the

depths of self, which
remain untouched by
time; eternal, singing
always its erotic poem,

in a silence which veils
it from others; open
only to the two hearts
which are listening,

holding in a blossom
of being, which does
not fade, and where
each petal is perfect.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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1 Response to Desire

  1. V.J. Knutson says:

    This is so beautiful. Desire and sexuality are different in our older years. You have expressed it so wonderfully.

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