poetry

Competitive Romance

For so long it had me bumping into walls–
to be enthalled by it’s caress,
suggesting by a single rose’s gift-
I was it’s extreme, best
as it proved to me-

with ease,
how it could impale
once impressing my pounding heart–
right from my chest.

Calling my name like it did,
in the shadows –as I hid,
trying to hold on to the last unexposed part, of dignity I had left.
But it groomed me–
crooned me,
too take nothing less from this unions set, before me-
it was counted as my importance
as my eyes closed in amazement, it took away-my breath.
I became addicted to its finesse,
the ways it would suggest-
candlelight, scented with euphoric praise.
As I fell under its spell,
I’d often yell –

when others’ failed,
to exhibit–

that same sensual grace.
I needed romance like breath,
with refusal to teach
for my heart duly kept-

notes in stealth,
where no one else could reach.
For I was worth every bit of its long salacious kiss that identified my bliss.
So, one false move or the wrong song
chased away the french energy of my awaiting tongue.
As it became clear,
I sought a different atmosphere–
spoiled,
as the ungrateful nature of reality’s harshness often veered.
For hadn’t everyone learned this extraordinary gift, by now?
The way romance could drive me, completely wild.
I needed all it’s beckoning avenues of pleasure– before me.
In order to allow the unleashing of my treasure’s shapely seniority.

It’s laid back unenthused sexiness gained my respect, by its–
aloof gestures, unphased,
as if this was all it took,
a rarity in its planning,
as if it wrote the book,
taking on an uneffortless stand-
that followed up with sentimental gestures, too hold my– hand.

As I melt like chocolate,
reeling and oozing from romance’s speech,
in awe by it’s methods
to literally, knock me off my feet.

Poetry By Tamara-Dorsey-Moore

Thinker on the Loose
Copyright© 2018

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