Him.
HIM
I feel as if the Mississippi is damn near about to gush out the meeting of my thighs.
Just at the memory of our first night.
I yearn
To soak in his alpha aura
It sends me into a deep calm
A sleep with my eyes open
To dream.
When he begins to open his mouth
to smile
to speak
I cannot help
the excitement to learn the inside works of his head
this man could be a prophet
a healer of the soul and spirit.
The teasing bites of his teeth against my skin
Soft thrushes
Hands brushing
Pudenda throbbing
My spine evaded by cold creep.
With him
I am elevated to a completely new realm
I could slide my tongue beneath his perfect teeth
How can a man be so delicious?
My wanting for Him is
Now
Everyday
Forever.
For him to fill me up
in empty spaces
to consume me.
To take me places between pleasure and pain
As if to break all my bones
And fix me up all again
My existed has been utterly bruised
by
Him.
A second is defiant
a minute is aggressive towards my dreams
flourishes a formidable mental anarchy
I creep confidently by the tail of a second
To the dejection of sympathizers
The patience of my sympathizers tires me
Waiting for the minute of abortive strife
Anticipated steps abrogated
Triumphant move trails the second
When fear surrogates confidence
Hope carries away the receiving end
Pain being exacerbated by giving
To bond the two sides
For passionate diffusion
Carrying hope together
Sending waves beyond normal.
The prologue was so pulsating
With punitive ideas meant to probate
pummeling the frail wasn't prolific
the effort of maternal Ponto punch,
but made it abreast with the potent
pseudo abrogate of stitch made it puck
the accord was to prelude penal
disloyalty chastens from pudenda
we swore the cause by purity
now we stand exhibiting
enjoying our terrifying purl
I assummed breast
Was no longer
A private part
Until they began
To expose the pudenda
And I began
To wonder
What part
Is then private?
A shriek rings out
the women's bathhouse invaded
A flustered man is past the door, intruded
Naked women milling about
All without a clout
The girls hide with hands their pudenda
Especially those built like Brunhilda
But fair Rosamund, no bother
just her face does cover
Next day he might know them as they were
but never never the naked her!
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