Seductively beckoning and waiting for my hand;
To lovingly stroke its deliciously smooth length;
From where it begins; at the small of your back;
To where it divides into the two luscious globes;
That never fail to entice more than my fingers...

Fantasy, what it is that you do for me;
Things that were once only dreams;
Forbidden pleasures you let me see;
Until I ache for release till it screams.

Fantasy, hot, smoldering alive in me;
Turgidly wet and hot, under my hand;
Strumming a chord of release to see;
Wet brushstrokes, wherever it lands.

Fantasy, why is it you torment me?
Keeping me up and una… Continue

He’s just not that into *Me*

Let’s move past getting drunk,
this butterscotch feeling, mingled with the scent of
bitter hops and beer, flat in
half-empty 40 oz. brown bottles.
Please stop trying to sleep with me.
Stop rubbing those drunk and calloused hands
over my body.
Forget about booty calls… Continue

She dances across the floor.
She's my little ballarina.
She dances across my heart.
She won't stop.
She won't stop.
She knows that I want her.
But she never let it occur.
The opportunities of she and I.
The mask covers everything but eyes.
I know that.
I know that.
She dances around my mind.
And she's running out of time.
If she really wants my heart.
Then she should stop dropping it on the floor.

Heart.
Here are the directions to my walls of hurt,
turn right,
right where you dumped all that i once was,
and then
turn left,
and there you will see all i once stood for long before you came and entertained me
with all you never were.

jo.