all is up.
a dreamy boy fills your legs
with such a torso-
he acts like your tongue is hard candy-
and the crust in your eyes is cinnamon.
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Tickle your toes. . .
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Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
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In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across but... -
strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
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lean in a little. say it like it's a secret. make your breath sound like italics. click your tongue against the roof your mouth then you...
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driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu... -
there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
Poets United Contributor
well....gooooood morning indeed. a very graceful description of such an intimate moment, thanks for writing
ReplyDeleteLol...
ReplyDeleteYour dreamy boy is getting all blushed out here. He knows he doesn't compare to the foxy fantasy lady he has in his hands right now.
ReplyDeleteLOL...wow.
ReplyDeletemmm...perfect. delicious little piece!
ReplyDelete:)
ReplyDelete