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LA Lorena


My Greedy Lover

you
you are like
my greedy lover
seducer of my mornings
you would make me your slave!
given your chance, you
would selfishly keep me to yourself today
ensconced in cool, tangled sheets
and plumped
within the confines of soft pillows
enveloped in darkness
embraced
in your velvet warmth
unabashedly undressed
hair freshly tousled
from dawn to dusk
to satisfy your innate need
to control me
body and soul
no words, no sounds
no need for sustenance
just a lover's greed
you'll lick at me, teasing me softly
beckoning me to join you
for another go round
how you tempt me!
Oh Depression
you'll not have
your wicked way with me today

Heels?

A simple elevation
not in status
but in stature and in spirit

they restore a long dormant
sway and movement to these idle hips
and rewind my mind
to once again remember
what it felt like to be a woman

Unless of course
you have a better way of reminding me

The Home Coming Queen

she checks her face in the mirror
adjusts herself, just so
her son comes home today
been away at college, he has
 
won't be long now
before he'll have his own
a wife and family
and she'll not have
his comforting presence
home for the holidays
 
bringing some friends too, he is
John, such a nice young lad
He'll do well, that one
but that other one?
She frowns....
His name escapes her
the mind does that when we age
cheeky monkey, that one
An odd look about him
and the way he's always whistling
the theme song to that movie
"The Graduate"
Insolent, he is
As if she doesn't know!
 
One last look in the mirror
to be certain
she pauses
looks round to be sure
she'll not be seen
purses her lips and blows
 
smiling now
she looks younger somehow
and it's comforting to know
that she still remembers
how to whistle
 
coo coo ca choo
Picture


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Go to page 2 of LA Lorena's Poetry

Poet, Exposed

Hooded nib exposed
he takes it in hand
under cloak of darkness
calloused, work-weary fingers
curl intimately
around its smooth girth
he begins the ancient rhythym
slow, hesitant strokes
coaxing, teasing
gently kneading
pleading for sweet release
strokes grow bolder
gun-fire quick
furious, angry strokes
to wring forth
 each spilling seed
 retreat, pace slows
as the last drips out
 dreamily
drop by sweet drop
black pearls
upon the page
reading his words now
I can't help but wonder
is it me he thinks of
when he writes?

Miles Away

you ask where I go
when I get that
far away look in my eyes
and I really have
no answer to give you
I just know
that each time I travel
another mile
comes between us
Go to Page 2 of LA Lorena's Poetry.

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