Dirty, filthy tripe is not allowed here, so you get a poem without any of the naughty bits. You will have to use your imagination, or write to me directly, if it takes more than something burning to light your pilot light. Best wishes to all:

Something Burning

There's something burning, burning down inside of me,
There's something churning, that's got to be set free,
You know that I want you, more than I want to live,
You know that I need it, take all I've got to give.

There's a fire in your eyes, how deep does it burn?
There's a fire in my heart, I can't act unconcerned.
I feel a furious hunger, no other can satisfy,
So feed me your body, baby. Shall I clarify?

I want to taste you, baby, I want to drink your wine,
I want to feel your body, that's looking oh so fine,
I want to nibble on your neck, and work down to your toes,
Open up and let me in until your fuse box blows...

I want to bite you in places, you didn't know you had,
I want to make you so hot, you'll know that you've been bad.
I want to turn up your thermostat, till you're soaking wet,
When you're done shaking, baby, you never will forget.

This love that consumes me, this love that sanctifies,
It grew in your garden, I found it in your eyes.
Can't you see it, baby; we've lived our lives in chains,
Take a chance with me, honey, let's see what fate ordains.

There's something burning, burning down inside of me,
There's something churning, that's got to be set free,
You know that I want you, more than I want to live,
You know I need it, take all I've got to give.

Third_and_Long? After reading this poem, apparently, "That's what she said!"

I especially liked the "in places you didn't know you had" line.

G.

There is something to be said sometimes for leaving it to the imagination, isn't there? So here's to women, absolutely impossible to understand and quite nearly guaranteed to break your heart (leaving us writhing in pain, etc., etc.) and still we hunger for them . . .

Daaaaammmn!

A beautiful woman with discerning taste. This can only mean that you are not available! Still, that's the best compliment I've had on this site since a scammer from Ghana Africa offered to show me the best way to eat a banana. As my friend Elvis would say, "thank you, thank you very much�"

Haha. Welcome to the club.

It sounds like you have met the scammers, too. The first thing they seem to do is get you to start contacting them directly. Maybe we have even been hit up by the same one before. While all the pics for me have been beautiful young long haired women, I somehow keep imagining a sweaty little village in Ghana where a "boiler-room" full of black George Costanzas (from Seinfeld) are busily working their gnome-like fingers on their keyboards . . . What we might need here is an epic ballad to these brave young thieves! A tribute! Think they read the Poems & Creative Writing section?

Lol! gastanza!

WHOA!!!
VERY INTERESTING READ!!!!

Third-and-long
My Dear , How boring this planet would be without us complicated, heart breaking women, ohhh , and you Guys ,you just know that Us women have a built in sensory allowing us to adapt, multi task and educate ourselves just for you Males. ,,,,,, Bless
Take it easy from, Good sense of humoured Annyjo x

Annyjo you go girl pmsl

Bait that hook and lure em in ....Love this your Hawtness!

Good Read, well written. I'll look forward to more writings.
Welcome to Mingle2.

Dear Unsure,
You and Simonedemidova are just going to make me blush right down to my toes with comments like these. I have to warn you though, encouragement could lead to more of the same! And seriously, thanks to all of you for your kindness.
~ Wes

Give us some more then! I like edgy....

That sounds like a bit of a challenge; I like challenges . . . I am up to my eyeballs in various projects right now, but it seems a breath of fresh air has stirred the embers of my soul (my thanks to you ladies for that). Let me see what I can do. Let me share one with you now (my edgiest ones would not be welcome here!), and I will do my best to answer your call as time allows!
~ Wes

Feel the Fire

Don't you need to feel the fire -
To feel this life's complete?
Don't you want to hold the heart
That burns for you with searing heat?

In you lives a poet's soul,
It shows clearly in your eyes -
In your veins the blood of wolves;
How can you compromise?

Your face is that of God above,
From your lips music flows;
Kings would die to touch your heart,
On the stars your beauty does impose.

There is a fire that burns for you -
It burns for you alone.
Keeping time with heaven's host,
It's love it does bemoan.

To see the future's hand I went
Deep into the wildest wood.
I sat with moonstone in my mouth
Till in that light I understood.

Child of love and child of light,
My soul belongs to you;
Night and day I am consumed,
This inferno I can't subdue.

Have you known the white-hot heat -
Would you like to try?
I'll make the heavens dance for you,
On this heart you can rely...

Don't you need to feel the fire -
To feel this life's complete?
Don't you want to hold the heart
That burns for you with searing heat?

Beautiful!

Dear Annyjo,

I thought your case deserves special mention (but it applies to all). I do find women maddeningly overcomplicated. You think when you should feel, and feel when you should think. There is no rhyme or reason to the balance of it, and yet we men are expected to follow the course as an astronomer would follow the more predictable heavens� And heartbreaking!* The fairer sex truly believes all is fair in love and war � as I'm sure an equal number of men do � but only a woman knows exactly where to place the dagger as she smiles alluringly� Even given this terrible state of affairs (from a simple male's point of view), I must confess your point about boredom seems understated (the famous British reserve?). Without you, what man would care about the sunrise or the sunset? There would be no wishes on shooting stars or deepest well. The hue and color of our world would fade away until there was nothing left but gray existence, survival� But there would be nothing left to survive for. Without women, the most beautiful flowers to ever grace our Earth, what would become of love? Art and literature would die. Shakespeare would've had nothing to say. The male could never survive without you to soothe our savage hearts, and then with one knowing glance to make it surge within our chest again to the point where we would give our life for one kiss from your lips� So I suppose if one must be damned, let my prison have kind soulful eyes, soft arms and legs to envelop me in, and the voice of an angel. Even with the heartbreak, what man can bear the world without you?

Your [tall, stocky] friend from across the pond,

Wes



PS. I would retire to my lonely writer's garret to produce nothing but love poems for hours on end just to hear that lovely British accent call my name�


* I hope you can forgive my bitterness, it comes to me honestly. Perhaps one day some angel will heal the scars:

Lover of the Words

She was a lover of the words, or so she said through sweet lips
Which caressed my soul like warm, flowing honey in June heat;
And being of like mind my heart was soon lost to me.

There for a time our spirits danced in verbiage and dreams,
We opened like God's flowers to the rain and to the sun -
The music of our words filled us with hope and love.

Higher things than this crass life engenders - better things.
We were closer to that state in which we are born and it was grand;
More angel than dust, more moonlight than shadow.

The words were me - no more or less, I was the song I sang,
But time was cruel and her heart crueler, the music was untrue.
Her words were but a tune to be played for a time and ended.

There was an emptiness in her; she sought diversion from life,
A game, a distraction - a dalliance with the lover of the words.
The words were not her; like wind there was no substance there.

She was artful, she was skilled; her locution rose and fell and darted
All in time with the movement of the spirit and I gave myself to it.
I was enthralled by the eloquence of her song, her cunning symphony.

And in her time she ended the recital - she went on to other pieces,
She went on to other patrons, and left me there alone without a sound.
She took the words and left a void greater than the one she found.

The soul is built on words, the spirit sails on ideals high -
Nothing else is more than empty dream to deceive poor fools like us.
The cruelest lie is the truth of the moment; sing your songs forever...

Or do not sing. Stay in the safety of your emptiness. Live your lie alone.

You honor me and I am humbled once more. Man lives for that - kind words from a soft heart. I wish a thief would rob me of the bitterness . . . There are days I would rather see this world with fresh eyes. Have you read Simple Needs? (I lose track of what I may have posted.) It may be edgy, but safe enough for this forum. Before head meets pillow I'll try to post it. And honestly, I truly do thank you. I would run out of space trying to explain, but it is heartfelt.
~ Wes

Thank you so much. (You too, mowildflower!) I would be better suited fishing for bass or crappie, it seems. It seems I cannot find the woman who values what I value. But your kindness gives me comfort in my valley of tears . . .
~ Wes