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Submitted:Jan 23, 2013    Reads: 919    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   


I will never sleep again, I realized.
I will not rest until you are mine and when you are, I will spend every night thereafter making love to you.
I wait like Florentino-
It seems unjust, the torture of desire. Who could tame a fire like an arsonist?
I am your consummate moth and nothing will keep me from you, but you. I pencil myself in to your destiny, get in where I fit. I become the shadow to your flame and we meet in licks.
In my mind I have already bedded your mind, seduced your love and laid with your soul. You are the object of my wettest daydreams. I have betrayed my underwears secrets by drowning Vicky. It has become so that I can think myself into orgasming off you.
Save me.
I tiptoe past the cabin of your heart. Light is on, red, as I imagined. Before only darkness greeted me, imaginings, some fantasy without a face. You've redecorated, filmy curtains to mask nothing, shamelessly. You undress looking directly at me, no shame for the fever you induced. You have chestnut brown nipples. They are proud.. stay up like your head and neck. I entwine in my mind from behind you, my neck bent to meet your older but shorter shoulders. You are so like me that in essence, this is high tech masturbation. Yet and still, I cannot stop wanting.
I collect your screaming hair, wild like safari in my hands and lift it up exposing your tattoo-less neck. I kiss the virgin skin there with tongue, no teeth, though I am starving for you. You feel me. You pull your hair up mirroring and tremble. Psychically we play in the name of fore. I move my hands to my own aching center and you follow.
Simon says-
Take off your panties.
You oblige.
Baby, you remove them with one hand the other excavating your clit, massaging to the same cadence as I am. You press your whole body to the window, tighter than braided new growth. Your pomegranate colored lips molest the pane and even it moans itself into a foggy center while you mark it with prints of your lust. Screams I cannot hear permeate the air around you and wrack the walls with grief.
Every animate and inanimate object on Earth is pained by the desire to be your glass. You push fingers inside yourself, slip them deep, curved upward and back to say come here. You tease your g spot like a mini skirt does thighs, up, down, up down. Fuck, you have no mercy. You lift one leg up to mount a chair, still full frontal. With one hand you repeatedly lick and suck and then encircle your own begging nipples, while the other hand works your wet into a tsunami.
I love myself, so I can say that I have loved you. I love myself down as I would love you. I give myself the same infinite stroke, stroke, stroking to a fraternal twin of your insatiable lust. We are both appetites that would make Ethiopian children feel full. You come like me, like I imagined, spasmodically. Your legs give way to-- Hurricane You. Your knees tremble like leaves in the wind. You collapse to the ground, chest heaving and...
I miss you.
I want to come inside in every way. The November chill of our season dances my baby hair. I don't have an orgasm left in me. You have come for us both.
Portuguese Man o War are not jellyfish. They are siphoniphores, collective beings all with the same modus operandi- thrive. You are just as deadly beautiful, and we are attuned to the same melody, seduce or be seduced. I have already lost the initial round of lust by loving you and yet I feel no loss. Loving you is the secret to conquering your lust, just as it is mine. The problem with seduction is going native.
I cannot let you in...
I cannot let you in...
I cannot let youwin....
Unzip me. Pull me out of my skin. You think yourself puppeteer and though I want you inside me, you will not speak for me. I exhale like I have been waiting and in truth I have, centuries that do not amalgamate to my years. Please don't be fooled by my youth. I am older than you, though our birth certificates might argue.
Let us be sane about it and admit that age matters not.
Your image is tattooed on both brain hemispheres. You decorate the left and I release you in paintings, poetry, none of them truly encompassing you.
Muse--you are...
You permeate the right with just as swift a vengeance. I calculate your square root. What emotions multiplied by themselves equate you? You are one singular endless thought that has subdued my hypothalamus, hence the fact that I cannot sleep.
My Kendra Ann
There is no dusk that sees me with closed eyes since you. You are air filtered with the nutrient of lust, a smog of need. I have been intoxicated since you breathed in the vicinity of my mouth. I have counted the seconds like covert ops, until I can bury myself alive in your brown eyes.
When I am close to you my whole world lulls. My words are my affectionate tokens, often uttered softly spoken. Writing is my breath. If I am not, best check my pulse.
We share this love.
I wonder if my pen is bigger. I see yours and I want to hold it. I prefer to write in pencil. I don't like definite things. I don't like rules. In fact I will leave a lover whom I love for placing me in restraints. I cannot be contained at the will of love, unless I so choose and..
I choose you.
Every time we meet you pretend we have never. Maybe this is why I have fallen a thousand times.
I still taste you.
Every time you grow sweeter as if honey made home between your thighs. Well here I bee... Queen.
7,560,000 seconds and counting since we've touched but I am coming.
I am coming like all things inevitable, to claim you as rightfully mine.
You swim..
You submerge...
You wrap me in yourself. We come face to face.
Eye to eye.
Heartbreaker to soul shaker.
I wrap your lips in mine, blow out candles and climb into our dark....
Feel the water rise....





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