Loins on Fire

When he said that his loins were afire, I knew that he was not for me.
The cynical woman that I am cannot abide the flimflam of old romance.
I am a feral beast when it comes to lust. Do not write sonnets of love,
Nor try to capture my essence in a twist-of-hair-at-my-nape haiku.
Give me the heat that two consenting adults can generate,
Once the niceties of society are laid to rest. I want to prowl
In the humidity of lust and roar in its climax. Meow~purr.

~Sherrie

*This poem came to me after reading poem after poem of flaming loins in another romantic poetry group. Come on people, are we in the 19th century??? Course I didn't post this there. lol