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poetry was her best lover

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Poetry was her best lover.
Like no other
He loved her
Without restraint.

She could be herself
And explore
And discover
Secret pleasures and fantasies
Naked above the covers.
He let her lie
As he slowly caressed her imagination.
Making her flow
With the sweet essence of her soul
In waves of delirium.
Flying free
He let her be
Unworried of how to please
Or how to tease
Just simply to be.
A woman in a prelude
To ecstacy .

Poetry was her best lover
Her escape from reality.
In clandestine intimacy
He ravished her mind
Again and again

For all he wanted
Was for her to cum.
To experience
To taste
Every pleasure
He had to offer
Her insatiable appetite.
He fed
With firm truths
That burst forth with wisdom
He fed her desire
To reach supremacy
He never betrayed
Or delayed
In pleasing her.
In giving her just what she wanted.
In different ways and forms
His creativity endless.

Poetry was her best lover
The only time in her day
When she had her way
And could be free
To be the woman she was meant to be
Sensual and sultry, sexy and savory

Not having to hide
Behind the guise
The veil of culture
Or religion
Or misconstrued sexism
Or alibis
Being demure
And “sterile”
When she was fertile
Laden with passion.

Poetry was her best lover
He adored her
For whom she was
And he gave and gave
At times
Leading her in submission to his will.

Taming her
Training her
To live in the confines
Of his rules
For perfection to be reached
She had to follow his lead
To the pinnacle of pleasure
Where all was in rhythmic union and rhyme.
The sublime.
Tasted and lived and then to descend
To warm after glow
Basking in the satisfaction
Of a fruitful union
For beauty has been conceived
Waiting for delivery.

Yes, Poetry was her best lover
And she Came looking for him
Begging him
To take her
Again and again and again
To transport her to heaven from hell
Tasting eternity.

Poetry was her best lover
And she Had no need of another
To help her discover
Her own entity….
None other
But her best lover Poetry....

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