I keep starting this in my head. Again and again. Never the same.
I want to invade your personal air space and occupy your affections.
I want to embrace the self you want to be and bury your distrust and misery.
Can you relate to hating the time we spend hating the time we don’t spend together?
If I’m always so corny, does that mean that below the surface I’m sweet and delicious and get stuck in your head?
Lavishly endowed gifts of bewildering endearment, draped across the finery of your figure.
Yield your whims to my direction and shut your eyes while I cannibalize the nectar between your thighs.
Fields of yellowed, wilted dreams. Obsessively categorized to please.
Stereotype my fragility, to fall prey to the originality of disassociated fallacy.
What happens when I want to write but can’t find a topic. 2 sentence starters to see what fits my mood. In this case, I’m just sharing. Maybe I’ll do something later.
I don’t try to smother people, but it’s kinda hard not to fuck up sometimes.
pro’s of dating me
- i love being cuddled
- i will kiss u literally whenever u want 24/7
- i look gross so you will always seem more attractive by comparison
I woke up with you on my breath. Famished for lust. A muse worth a lakh of rupees. Lacking you, this day is a trudge through muddy crusted thoughts of wind swept shores and crescent moons. Sooner or later, it will abate, but I’ll hate myself for letting it go. Letting it slow my pulse and calm my nerves. Swerving drunken on sunken memories. Effervescent eyes burned into my mind’s eye unblinkingly. Unerringly guiding the twists of intent. Unleashed torments of agonized longing. My closed eyes lie to me. A form exposed denying perception. These collections of want are wontonly spewing through my polluted abyss, persisting on the lifeblood of my cancerous affliction. My addiction. My feverish haste to make waste of your innocence with dominance and soft hands. Blending reality without morality. 50 shades of you. All this is yours, abhorrent and torrid. Flawed and subservient. Grasp with clenched fists the surface of our tryst and anchor deeply for the world is young and time is fleetingly speeding forth. This dream is mine. What’s yours?
Later today, a very long rant on online dating and its connection to social media and telecommunications that’s exsanguinating peoples’ perceptions on partners and dating in general.
I want to author a book and title it “Poems about Fucking; artistic discourse on intercourse.”