The shrink and the poet

A shrink she is,
To my troubled self
Swirling thoughts,
blurry silhouettes,
Beautiful shadows,
Cast by a twilight

She smiles like it’s sunset,
Resting cordially in a sofa,
Cross legged, hands on the knees

Her neck straight,
That I see blood pumping in her vein
At pace slightly above normal

I swear I would kiss it softly
Like a vampire, letting her feel my warm breath,
Onto her moisten skin,
While I smell her youth,
Like strawberries, red and luscious

Crazy i am,
But truly I know
That I need her next to me,
And not across a glass table,
Reflecting a magnificent sculpture of beauty,

But our bodies kissing,
Sharing sweat and warmth
Her voice melodic, echoing
And Her smell filling my lungs to the soul
Elating into bliss
And moaning in ecstasy

And yet, she fights the urge,
To claw across the table
Biting her lip salaciously
Listening to the words of a deranged poet
Luring his prey for a kill

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