Adel Bishtawi

Your hand is not in pocket,
But I see desire in your eyes,
A primeval call for me to strip,
So don’t deny, complain or fret,
I understand what is meant,
But it won’t happen, so please relax,
You and I are different,
It’s not morality, wrong or sin,
Knocking on the door of the temple,
Is not enough to let you in,
It’s not clothes we remove,
But things we know and things we don’t,
Some may want to call it ‘soul”,
I don’t know so I do not,
So run away if you want,
Or curse away if you must,
My ears are tightly shut,
My legs are firmly closed,
Until you know my sesame word,
Failing that prove to me,
You have a heart I can trust.

Sex is a peculiar design,
Wet and messy as it is,
With kindness and a loving heart,
It can sometimes cleanse,
With a stick poking around,
It can harm; it can defile,
It’s this way or the other,
There’re no more,
One may make a girl a saint,
The other a slut or a whore,
One can be a withering act,
And one can make a girl bloom,
That’s why we call it love,
And that’s why you call it bonking,
My mind is full of questions,
So I don’t know but I’ll keep on looking,
Meanwhile you have to wait,
It can be a determined no,
But it can be for just a while,
It may depend when next we meet,
You come to me with a hard erection,
Or one green rose and a smile,
And as a gesture of good will,
I’m letting you know before I leave,
My sesame word is a four letter word,
Choose one for yourself,
And choose one for me,
It’s your choice but it’s my body,
I will make the final call,
And what will be will be.

Image credit: Sonia D., private share

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