They are all visitors
Erotica it is, that lures.
A sensuality that simmers, in verses
They tap to enter
To gauge her intensity
To dip in her seductive waters
Lust it is
Lust it always was
Ahh these visitors,
Some youthfully explicit
Some hushed admirers
Along came a fellow poet
Who waxed eloquence
Penning rhapsody, he continued for a month
She was in trance
Assuming he was the other half
And he eventually evanesced
Coz, he was just like others
She chose not to succumb any further
For they are all visitors.
For an ethereal face
Or the blossomed flesh, that lures
The wait had died long back
So had she
So it hardly matters
Who stays
Who retreats
She will be who she was
Not defined by these visitors
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