More emotions flickered across her
face when she buried her nose in a book
than when she kissed him the morning
for work.

Sometimes I get prideful and think that maybe my feelings for you have faded (at least a little bit). So I make the mistake of lingering. And then there’s this heaviness in my chest that increases the more I try to push it down- to try to control it. But it’s irrepressible and all I want to do is to unravel all over again

I wanted you.
I wanted you because I wanted to corrupt you.
Corrupt that kindness in you that scared me.
Corrupt the sweetness in you that tempted me.
I wanted to taint you.
I wanted to taint you so that when I shoved you
into a wall- you'd curl your fingers through my hair and bring me closer.
I wanted to taint you so that before our lips met you'd smirk-
knowing full well how much I wanted you.
I wanted you.

You said you like it when women take advantage of you.

But I didn't ask you to elaborate cause what was

going through my head was me roughly pushing you 

onto the table to give you a soft kiss. I couldn't

say the first witty thing that popped into my

head. 'Cause the first word on my tongue was,

'Fuck'.

Or maybe I'm just an easier baby machine.

Is there more to a small waist then just the inherent need to mate with one who looks "fertile"? Or am I just over thinking things? Is it the feeling of skin upon skin flushing down the slope of a small waist to the swell of ones hips? Is it the more pronounced sashay, although not deliberate in it's intent's sway? Or is it because the tapered arches leads to skin that encloses the object of one's desire in a titillating curve to behold, to squeeze with two hands?

I would adore

I would adore it if someone were to romance me with inked words rather than using empty verbs in eloquent speech .

I would adore an earnest, sincere, poem. Or just something so unabashedly from the heart.

Something that sets them apart in a way that showcases their eccentricity a la carte of their soul - if my Love would wish to bare.

But maybe that's too much to hope for- or do I dare?

Smooth Away

Some days I look at you 

and all I wish to do is smooth

down that wrinkle atop your

forehead.  

Other days I wish to kiss away 

those two lines that appear beside your lips

when you frown.

Everyday I hope to see your eyes 

crinkle in joy.

Warm

Warm.

Our chests are inches away

and the first thing that comes

to mind is how warm you are.

For a moment I wonder whether 

or not I should be sitting in your lap 

or merely snuggling myself into you.

I do neither.

I sit up, place a knee besides both sides of you, lean

myself against you, weave my fingers through your hair

and kiss your forehead.

Yes. Warm indeed.

Drunken prose

Drunk and I don’t wanna get sober 

The reluctance to sit down and to keep a never ending sway 

is taking over.

First time intiating

In my minds eye I am forthright and I pull him 

to me with every intention of doing what I want to do.

But as I stand before him, my fingers meekly curl around 

the strings from his hoodie and I softly tug.

My cheeks warm and he leans down.

Now

Bold lithe fingers.

Impatient nimble hands.

Finger nails digging- only touches command

Herself

As a young girl she’d dipped

her toes into the comfort of her own mind.

She hid in the nooks and crannies

of her soul. Hoping that all those who

treaded- would do so lightly.

If not cautiously, for she had

long been scared into the only

place she knew well.

Meager Moment

People say that the bathroom is where their best kind of thinking is done. That used to be the case for me. More specifically the bath- or shower if you will.

I used to love taking baths. But I realized, if I stay 

in too long, the sound of my own thoughts drown out every thing else,

that I become still, as does the water.

So still.

When movement becomes necessary the feeling of the water moving across my skin, and the sound of it all, is what snaps me out of my cluttered mind. 

I don't like leaving myself to my own thoughts. They consume me.

..

..

Today I thought that I'd treat myself to a warm bath. And I remembered you during this particular time of pruning. It was about a few months ago- I sat in your tub and you sat on the bathroom floor with your back against the wall as you read. Art of War, was it ?

I don't know.

But I do recall you said 'do you mind me reading here, love?' 

I remember I scoffed, flicked bubbles at you, and said 'Does my company bore you?'

You spoke immediately. ' Actually, naked or not I really like your company. I could always just read in my room, but I want to read beside you.' A sarcastic response was on the tip of my tongue but you gave me that crooked grin and fetched your book anyways. 

You really did read. It was endearing. I could tell by the way that you changed your position every so often to read more comfortably.

I enjoyed the silence but then my fingers started to prune and my own thoughts became too loud. 

That's when your voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

-

That's what I remembered today.

Damn, I just miss you.

I wonder

I wonder what I’ll be doing when the thought of missing you no longer hurts, but is a dull blur at the edge of my mind. Will I be in the middle of washing the dishes when the thought of you hits me? Will I be able to smile without tearing up? Will I have forgotten our escapades, our random walks, our comfortable silences?

You.

Your humor, your crooked smile, your character, your sincerity?

 Will I be able to look at you without wanting to rediscover you?

…

…

 But I still wonder.

What am I to do?

Your continuous motion inspires my tumultuous emotion 

Never ceasing, but at times, a glimpse

of quiet distortion

In your smile, it’s there, though barely so

Yet inevitably, it seems, it’ll be the fore of your woes

Sex and nothing else

A stranger asked me something terribly important yesterday. It was in a crowded room full of young well dressed adults, it was a soiree of sorts. Everyone was looking at me, it was in the midst of the presentation and the presenter searched the crowd and chose me first. I was buzzed and exhausted but the alcohol was doing wonders. I was feeling light and all I really wanted to do was to groove to all the beats with someone- anyone, as long as their was some sort of human contact. Fuck, things never really go well when there's alcohol involved with this kind of emotion. 

So the presenter asked me this:

"What's the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of love?"

And I didn't think twice. I smirked, I fucking smirked and I lightly scoffed as though what would come from my lips would be the most obvious answer and I said. 

..

...

"Sex." 

SEX? What the fuck? I kind of expected more from myself. What's wrong with me? How basic can I get? Love means more to me than just that. Although, sex is an aspect of a romantic relationship that can come and go, it's not something that lasts. Sex can be beautiful, it's a union of two people who love each other, but it's not something that fully encompasses my perception of love. Damn, why couldn't I have said something like ' patience, long-suffering, wonderful, fleeting, transient?' 

But damn, maybe it really just was the alcohol and the performances that were sexy.

Sandalwood and Pancakes

I resisted the urge to lick my dry lips and to stuff my hands roughly into my pocket. The neatly pressed sheets and the intricately patterened golden bed post made for a posh like backdrop to her form. Slender hands lay almost dainty-like atop her lap— the image blurred my senses back to a sun filled apartment, the hazy scent of sandalwood and pancakes.

For a moment, I lingered.

The reverie, however, fell apart when the corner of her lips tugged down. She crossed her ankles and my gaze followed her lithe legs clad in opaque stockings, then to her flimsy cream robe.

“This isn’t a game. You need to leave.” 

Her demand sounded hollow to me and the lack of urgency in her tone stole my breath. I had pictured this moment to be filled with passion of the admonishing kind- I would plead until my knees ached, and somehow we would both give into the weight of it all. And yet none of my dramatic expectations had been met. I had gone over the possibilities and yet this wasn’t one of them. This wide space between us was never part of those damn ridiculious possibilities.

I looked to my shoes.

Resentment pricked at my mind and I bit back a mirthless chuckle— heavy and vile. I sighed before I spoke “No. I can’t leave.” Something flickered in her tired brown eyes as I swallowed the lump of nerves down my throat. My palms were moist with perspiration and the need to wipe them made my fingers twitch.

“Steven,” she called out. My chest ached but I couldn’t help but savor the way my name quietly slipped past her lips. I could already feel my resolve begin to melt as her eyes softened.

“I—” I paused to recollect the words in my mind. But the task proved difficult as her gaze did not falter. “I can get you away from all this. We can leave.” Her delicate eyebrows began to furrow, so my mouth moved faster. “And– an—just. I. You just gotta hear me out!” I ignored the desperation that had grown much too evident in my voice. It pained me to stare, her thin wrists, her collar bone jutted unhealthily under her skin, her makeup somewhat hid the gauntness of her cheeks and it was was all so damn unnatural, really.

Her gaze steeled and she stood, the swell of her hips more pronounced as she stepped towards me. “I’m here for a reason.” My mouth ran dry and she looked away.

One lone face, so vivid, stood in my mind. There was only one man this woman would break herself for.

I ignored the sudden weakness in my knees. “That much, huh? You love him this much.” I croaked.

There was a pregnant pause and my hands balled into fists. Until finally, I dared to peak at her clear face.

The tears and the solid determination in her eyes was enough for me to understand.