A Letter To My Imaginary Friend

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So might I only begin
to extend to you this frolic
of my love,
seeking only in this moment
for myself in recompense
but to lift you up once more in an embrace,
if only to feel the fluffy down
of a fine tress of your hair upon my nape,
wisping about from my panting breath
as I gasp in the sweet pleasure
of suspense and anticipation
of even the slightest brush
from your soft, delicate hands.

I would be overcome!

I would feel compelled to kneel before you
in entranced, silent worship
of the resplendent radiance
of your Femininity.
My heart would race
as I was left astonished and engulfed
by this sight...

I can’t...

I shouldn’t...

O! but I must!

My passion
would overtake my reason,
I would reach out
to venerate and fill myself of you,
surrendering to the flow
of this sacred, blossoming fount
from which I could do naught but quench my Spirit,
to endlessly slake myself
from this flux and flourish of Beauty
that I have been so blessed in this life
to have held,

and to have simply beheld
in such serenity
and hallowed ardour
before me.

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Copyright © Ron Koster/Psymon, 1996-2010.
All Rights Reserved.

Earth: Winter Grounds
Air: Spring Breeze
Fire: Summer Heat
Water: Autumn Mist
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