Cinder Blocks.

I want sit at the hearth of your manhood,

and stoke the fire to dangerous heights,

stir at its white-hot cinder blocks,

fuel the embers of its dark corners,

you burn like fire,

in my heart – in my mind,

in my skin – a temperature rise,

emblazoned, emboldened,

a singe at the touch that’s so very right

beheld by the highest of the high,

as well as the beggars of the night,

you’re made up of the stuff,

that speaks directly to my concubine,

not a nano-second passes by me,

without warmth of a cosmic heat,

like a fire burning steadily,

slurping out my poetry,

like a vampire of pure lovability,

like a conflagration of flames,

dirty words and silly pet names,

I want to make you see,

tell me, do you see?

Is it “you”, or “me”, or is it “we”?

 

 

 

 

21 thoughts on “Cinder Blocks.

  1. Rita says:

    Ohhhh, I love this. LOVE IT ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  2. As is said in Louisiana…” HOT AS A POT OF RICE AT A 1/4 TIL NOON”

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Simon says:

    This is more than a bit hot, it’s a give you have that comes out from time to time that I love to see! 😃😘

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Isaac Gathings says:

    Bravo! Such beautiful wording, this is a fine piece.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Mmmmhmmmmm…..
    Fanning myself here. 😆

    Liked by 1 person

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