Tortured Logic, Goodbye Natasha

Natasha, Do not trick me into love with keen dark eyes and warm sex. Do not purr all hot and lusty into my ear, let love rest. I can not breathe with blades of love tearing into my chest. My lungs fail to expand, my stomach collapses under the pressure of your thin skin. Up against my hard bones, I feel your fine breasts, your hips, your legs, and they are knives thrusting crazy, deeper than you can imagine. Your milky flesh, straight black hair, your slender frame, honed curves, your insistent rousing whisperings are no different than the guillotine. I am unclean. My heart bleeds endlessly. My mind is tormented by dreams. I have everything and nothing and the last thing I need is a woman willing to pierce my soul, kiss me tenderly, take me to the movies, take me dancing. Damn straight, the last thing I need is the loving arms of a woman holding me. Dean Walker