Day 90 (Rupert Murdoch goes fox hunting and fails to see any irony)

Liquid is my lust

Floating through each feeble finger of my clenched fist

Dripping to the steel forge

Tissue to scar

 

The burning

Yearning desire to wallow in your mire

But you keep distance

Prolong the chase

And without one lick I developed a taste

 

Pound soft flesh

Destroy desire

 

But simple fire licks

And wisps in visions corner

 

Taunting

Tantalizing

Driving over cliffs of madness

To pits of despair

 

Floating to the sky

On the wings of an unsaid promise

The faint feeling of something more with knowledge of nothing

 

Body's subtle whisper

Is not audible to the human ear

 

Confusion

Confusion

 

Pound soft flesh

Destroy desire

 

Sweet steel kiss me hard