“I have needs!”
She shouted
over the shower of emotion
that rained down
on her exposed body.
He tried not to see her needs;
but from where he stood
he could feel the heat,
the heat of both their needs.
He knew she could see
his need for relief.
“Please,”
she whispered,
leaning against his will,
his will that weakened
as she enticed him
to step into her shower.
He stepped back, instead,
thinking about the chill
that would come after the spent heat--
the chill that would send them both
running for cover.
Copyright © 1990 Pam Patterson
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As a way to expand my writing horizons I have made it a point to read random poetry (Because I don't much like poetry) and my blind stab has led me to yours. Though I am commenting on "Second thoughts" I have read several of your works. I am captivated by your discriptive structure and ability to bring emotion to the edge without straying into the obvious.
Now my quandry is: Have I become a fan of poetry or have I become a fan of Pam's poetry?
Nicely done,
Creighton Thompson
Peace,
Bill