Poetry is my passion, the erotic is just a gift. I combine words and terms and give them vision, it’s a gift. I’ve often been told I moonlight by day, compose by night and hold many hearts in sway. My words are erotic, yet still exude taste. My poetry is fire, yet the feeling never melts away. It’s a passion, one I hope never fades. I don’t write for me, I write for those I hope will read this some day. It’s my passion, one of many it seems. I love to act out my words, to taste their imagery. I love to dream up new things, distill the thoughts to words, insert the nouns and verbs and pray the meaning is undisturbed.
Passionate Expression, I call it my secret weapon. It allows you to hear my voice through the ink, my touch through the sheet, the sound when I speak and visualize that feeling is from me. It’s deep, but it’s erotic all the same. I don’t take you to the storm, I become the pouring rain. I don’t make you call my name, I make you sexually insane. All through words and phrases, all through the use of your brain. You’ve never seen me but you crave me still. You don’t know me yet I control your will. You want sex, I deliver it in excess, erotically, passionately, I allow you to submit to my requests.
This isn’t a stop, it’s the journey of your life. This isn’t just sex, it’s an erotic afterlight. Maybe I’m cocky, maybe a bit misunderstood, but of one thing I’m sure, you wouldn’t stop if you could.