Let me slip in and cool the heat under your hot, aching skin.

~~ I shall never be a discarded rag
 wrung out of  droplets when you've an aching head.
I'm forever soaked,
opened and widely spread.
Take me, hold me.
 I shall provide for you this much.
When you are aching and feverish,
it is I, that shall be your cooling touch.
 
Cool and softly I rest,
beneath your brazen, fiery skin.
It's been stretched and pulled so tightly
that it's wearing rather thin.
I'm your salve, your ointment
that tinkles upon each caress.
I'm a gentle breeze that blows as the heavy clothes
fall off your scrawny body when you undress.

This heat from the spell of  your fever
has your thoughts scattered oceans wide.
They're taking on quite fiercely
like the dominant male in a lion pride.
Hush, don't roam inside yourself.
Your bleeding red and velvet wine.
I'll take you to your calling.
Holding your hand until you reach the great divine.


Submitted: December 21, 2014

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