Lust

It oozes out of my skin these days.
Pure.
Unadulterated.
Tempered by age, forged by years
of suppression.

It lives and breathes on the tip of my tongue.
Sweet.
Salacious.
Tangy in anticipation, bitterness churned
out of its core.

It undresses, feeding my voyeuristic gaze.
Tempting.
Toe-curling.
Wanton in want, hunger stoked on fumes
rising off naked flesh.

It is devilish, it is sinful in my heart.
Angelic.
Pleasurable.
Blessed in bliss, and blinded by a force
of ancient kin.

It is falls, hardens, it rises in my self.
Unsheathed.
Vulgar.
Uncontrolled in words, unconquered
in death.