Such privilege~ I cannot even find her under the layers.
Think you have me figured out and can play my emotion into your hands with soft words and a glass of wine and your touch?
My skin sears your hand with my distaste and castrates upon your entry. Wine, she is an aphrodisiac for my dreams and a smoke jumper on your lustful flame.
Do you know my heart? Does it need tenderness or taking?
Wrong options. It isn’t waiting for your salve. It’s on the prowl feeding on the s/he in the alley and toking the smoke of fantasy. My heart is a pole dancer in the center of the church as much as it is a virgin bride on the eve of an orgy.
She doesn’t wear black or red or white for him. She wears the grey silk and a smile and diamonds. And sometimes, she smiles the smile of self- mastery and reaches for the toy with the most batteries and cries herself to sleep.
#for Reticent Mental Property.