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Desire. That illustrious ball of yearning imploding and reforming within you. In the loins in the heart, inna gadda da vida run run gypsy fun smashing croquet mallets against your achy breaky heart. This metaphysical elastic band twisting your want, tightening wincingly till gotta have it Flinstone cravings dull your mind and blaze the libido. Bedrock twist bed fellows, rubble trouble carnal addictions rouse from slumber. As you age the want grows, expands, takes little nibbles here and there, sampling like Kanye. You know how we do. New things learnt all the time, surprises herprises abounding past the birthday candles. Secret wishes kept hard inside, trust issues duct tape them firmly pressed. You wait for someone to share, to nurture nature, revealing the mirror into your cenobite fantasies. Pain and pleasures seeketh the user.

But there is ever more. Pandora’s box flushed open, sin delicious beckoning you for more nibbles. Desire grows, augments, manipulated chaos. Iron butterfly whipping up hurricanes. Tempest tragedy creating destruction but maybe you like it, maybe being out of control becomes the fantasy. Tied up romper roll; pinch, spank, nails pierce deep into soft flesh. Skin, sweat, lips, hips, nips. Adventure time for lusty ones, freedom to give in. Taboos serve less purpose in modern times, Desire’s wings allowed to grow. People are more accepting now so no need to be afraid, no shame spiral here.

Then Desire takes vacations. Lessening over time as age rears its head, prattling on and delighting itself with checkers and backgammon. No more inquiry, no finding out pleasures underneath the blanket. The somes of society still have at it, no need to burden themselves with saggy sexualis pushing heads in the sand. Cock and ball stories told around the city. Many pens write their ballads. Ink is spilt ink is saved with nary a judgement. Choose your own adventure kiddies.

Thus the cycles bend and sway on Oedipus winds. Psychotic erotic dabbles in mortal lives like greek gods. Plays and ploys all of it. But I envy these ones who dance with Desire. The butterfly fluttered away leaving small remnants at the doorstep. Too cold to go fetch it and I’m not even dressed for it. Little chills follow up the spine now and again. I wait for its expression, rapture rhapsody playing my song, though not much gets through, I push for spritely exuberance but nada. Whatever will be will be, new song old hat. My lover stands on golden sands and I look out at the sea. Old man come early. Give me another hit.