Pretty Little Flower
Pretty little flower,
I could pick you, pluck you, pervert you.
I want to I do.
My bud, blooming, blossoming beauty.
But would you whither, wane, wilt within my sweaty clutch?
My greedy need for your scent & touch.
Your fragrance stifled by stale smoke & cheap cologne.
Your fantastic form drooping & listless from preening & jealous custody.
Like all the rest, would you rot?
My desire to have or my need to have not?
No little flower, I'll stay a picker but for one so perfect as you,
I'll stave the perversion, stay my wandering hand.
Sit pretty little flower, Till the next picker comes.
Copyright © Matthew Miles | Year Posted 2010
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