WARNING! I don't know what to call this next poem. Erotica I suppose. If that kind of thing bothers you. Don't read this.
Once again. It is old.
It’s All the Same
You call me on
to a brand new game
where nothing else matters
it’s all the same
Your kiss or a whip
is it ecstasy or pain?
it doesn’t matter
it’s all the same
With a velvet glove
or a ball and chain
it doesn’t matter
it’s all the same
carried away
beyond pleasure or shame
it doesn’t matter
it’s all the same.
©Icebear 1996
1 comment:
Your sadness was a wonton thing,
but oh the pleasures it would bring
when I danced to the songs of your memories.
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