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Ponce de Leon


A kiss on the cheek, isn’t that how it starts?

Then slowly yet quickly lips part and tongues dart

and hands look for comfortable places to rest

while lips meandering traipse from nape to chest

then down to the navel with teasing intent

as long as I’m able, but the pleasing’s hell bent.

It’s hard to fire warning shots over the bow

with such a hot target in the crosshairs right NOW.

My will has no power in this, I have found

a sly smile simmers, looking up, going down.

I dive and I delve and one lone quiet“oh!”

finds friends and crescendos over and over.

While pulsing gyrations undulate and flow

I drink from the fountain till it starts to slow.

Then I rise to attention to plant my flag

not for God and country, lay claim or to brag

but to increase the chance that one day again

to return to this place, this lover, this friend

to drink from this fountain and regain my youth

and try to be selfless, but to tell you the truth

I’ve sated your hunger so please bring your thirst

cause next time I’d like you going down first.

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