blue is not just a color
not just a color, it is a metaphor
it is a memory of you
in the islands of our desire
when you look at me
i quiver
your hands rest on the
muscle of your thighs
something in me
screams for joy
like a mad woman inside
a room with a man
on top of her body
as your plump chest wrestles
with the nipples of my breasts
i bite my tongue
there is pain, but so sweet just then
this is passion
this is my poetry
there is no other unless you ask
for more of its flesh
and more of its soul

i may give in
if i shall have learned to love
a lock of your hair