Poetry and Porn    

Poetry is pornography,
your lines are naked flesh   
yielding scents and secrets
forbidden fruits of sheer excess.

I wrap your words around me,
they are the inside thighs
of mermaids and of angels.
Your metre gently sighs
   

with a simple pure lost longing,  
forgotten long ago,
for erotic carnal knowledge
of you, and I should know,
  

silky, pulsating, vibrant,  
your poem simply begs  
for me once more, again   
I drink the bottle to the dregs.

I love each oozing stanza  
I crush each line, a grape.
Poetry is addictive -   
for me, there’s no escape.