He makes me sore, through my pores, and i want
Pushing my limits, always and more, to my core….
My dark muse brought to life, like a knife he splits,
becomes apart of me, my only plea….
He’s kissed every inch, pinched, leaving
his mark till we part…..
I love feeling him the next morning,
his smell still inside me, sore, till
i want more…..
That he is adorable, so much younger than me,
but, could he be the key to unlocking…me…..
His eyes like the skies, i want to dip and fly…in
His hair neat, calm, and imagine getting
tangled there, just to hear his breath against
I’d like to taste him, hard, soft, maybe, teases
just to see shadows cross over, the afterlife waiting,
baiting, will he, or won’t he….?
Could praying hands touch sin and still
He knows…because i told him so…..
Tick-Tock and the clock knots….
Here i lay twisted in pink and purrs and you
My girls want to be be free you see, so,
i obliged, keeping secrets under the
covers, for lovers….
*Picture taken from Pinterest: “La Petite Mort”. French School, 18th Century | Lot | Sotheby’s *