eyes locked on target, I lick my lips, starving so bright-eyed and impressionable quiet and corruptible, quite incorruptible. your interest is marked but i crouch feigning disinterest and wait for you to come to me it doesn't take long and soon you are stretching towards me, caressing and nervously examining my chops. I snarl, and command you to strip hungrily I hurry you urging you to go on. I bite my lips and admire momentarily then pounce. your naked flesh meets the cruelty of my teeth and you cry out, shocked, and I laugh until your hands clasp tightly and shut the air from my lungs and choke the laugh and the very thoughts from my head, it is my turn to be shocked, but I recover, greedily taking in your eagerness and briefly surrender to a kiss
Incidentally, as soon as I sort of lost interest in Pratchett, he decided that he wanted to be serious with me. Things still going on but I refused the exclusivity on grounds of that fact that I'm me, indecisive in perpetuity. I figure if I don't know I want to be with someone for sure, I probably don't. These poems are about Shawty. Not necessarily as sexy and mysterious (in fact I think the words tall, dark and handsome are rather far from hand) but for some reason has me captivated. OK so I'll admit I only said that to bait him, if he's reading this. I've never met anyone who has the effect he does on me. He's not my Maud Gonne or anything. Just younger than me. Remind me to stop blogging about my love life, it gets complicated.
No comments:
Post a Comment