my beautiful boy
the one I \'can\'t have but have touched\'
I dreamt that you read me a story last night,
a story about a little girl and a big bad wolf
a story that made me think
a story that made me wet.
You read me your poetry last night,
I stared into your eyes and felt myself falling into you
it provoked thoughts about your beauty
your words turn me on like nothing else
I love your mind
I want to get into your thoughts and make love to them.
I asked you a question about your favourite sexual fantasy
you said it was me 100%
so, I pictured you and your girlfriend fucking,
and I had this thought that when your giving it to her you imagine its me
as my hands grope my breasts and roam my inner thighs, tracing over my virginal white knickers.
I wonder what you would feel like inside me,
your body rubbing against mine
our hips moving in a slow rhythm
our tongues fighting
mouthing filthy words to each other.
But you moved away...
I need to talk with you
I need another fix of you
your an injection with the sweetest drug flowing through my blood
sending my whole body into a pulsating ecstacy
I miss you.
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Comments
i'm moderately hard just from reading this.
lol
great imagery
makes me sad at the same time.
Not sure what to say about this one.
Don't tend to be a fan of the erotic poetry myself.
Quite well written though.
Nice play on the child-like/sexual fantasy world with a tinge of sadness.
--
"Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation."
I *am* a fan of the erotic poem, and I like the fantasy you're playing with.
--
I believe in nothing; everything is sacred.
I believe in everything; nothing is sacred.
d
Anyway. I like the poem, but I think it is best suited as say a journal or diary entry, or given to the person; when submitting something like this you are bound to receive a lot of negative attention, but also, why share something so personal to you? I admire you for doing it, but I really can't understand; perhaps because I see personal things as being things to personally reflect on, not to be reflected on by others. Know what I mean?
But don't stop writing.
--
When all else fails, blame curiosity.
ok....my poetry isnt always about me...i write as an outsider...i make up characters, and i get into them....
just for the record
Is this about me and you? No?! Ok, well lets pretend yeah.
It makes me want you even more.
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