Lust The skin remembers what the touch has known, A phantom pressure where a hand has lain. A whispered name, a breath that's overgrown To wildfire racing through each eager vein. The eyes, once meeting, hold a captive spark, A silent language spoken in a gaze. Desire blooms within the shadowed dark, A tangled vine in passion's fervent maze. The lips recall the taste, the yielding soft, A memory that lingers, sweet and deep. A hunger rises, reaching up aloft, To break the surface where the senses sleep. The body stirs, a restless, yearning thing, Responding to a primal, urgent call. No gentle ballad does the moment sing, But drums are a rhythm destined to enthrall. It is a heat that burns without a flame, A thirst unquenched by any placid stream. A whispered promise, spoken in a name, A fevered, fleeting, incandescent dream. Yet in this fire, beauty can reside, A raw intensity, a potent art. Though shadows cling where reason cannot guide, It holds the beating of a hungry heart.