Crass Grass

RMPweedI always want what I cannot have.

I want to earn a large income in a jaded world, doing what feels good and right and necessary, working to serve a desire or a passion or a purpose and produce  something that does not profit the middle man or the widget seller.  It shall involve joyful union, of mind, of body, of want and will be called both work and pleasure.

I want to live in a mansion, legs happily entwined with those of a man I adore. He will beg to marry me and I will love him for that need but hush him into lavishly spending his most valuable assets on me- time and attention and conversation.  And when we are off to see the vineyards or sitting on a boulder in the Sierra Nevadas having coffee with the sunrise, or out tasting some new delight created in the kitchens of the finest chefs and served on the tiniest plates,  we will let the excess rooms to recent divorcees and their little ones.

I want to make lust, not love.

Then I want to make love with lust. 

I want to be desired by many, owned by none, take what I wish, and tell my truth. Always.

I want to be independently wealthy with the kind of money that allows me to say, money is not everything.

I want to feel passion and stir his soul and mine and turn back the hands of time through the little known practice of unconditional acceptance while wearing nothing but a fine pair of red leather boots and my smile.

I want to be treated like a princess whore and hold a steady gaze while looking into my lover’s eyes as  I tell him he’s the only one.

I want to travel alone,  accosted only by good looking men who know how to read and cook and learn with laughter and touch and exploration and wild abandon all day and into the night.

I want to live in a library penthouse, my bed nestled between the literature stacks where I will live off kisses and daydreams and wear bare feet to lectures by professors and poets.

I want to travel to Italy, know wine by the barrel, drop my accent when convenient and become fluent in Fuckme.

I want to offer myself to the man who won’t take me and when he succumbs to my charms,  I want to teach him the error of his ways and after, turn my back on him and walk away and then let amnesia take over his mind, and teach him the same lesson over and over and over again. 

I want to make high heels comfortable and then, slip them off,  to fall one, then the other in random fashion where they will lie under his bed until I am finished.   

For Reticent Mental Property image found while web surfing.

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