stephanie-d-popeWhisper

American
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MaterialI do not want much . / Material my soul could never touch. / I ask for little for free.
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Tease Me NotSeems my mouth has created again, / thoughts of passions and crimes of sin. / The very pleasures that play the keys
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Rare LoveOnly a true love can withstand. Able to outlast the desert sand. Completely in faith it is so real. Love must be effortless to feel. No words say enough truth of loving. Pain would give with it's rubbing. Minding pleasures so unspoken. Tiring not when even day has broken. The word itself lacks emphasis. True love knows pain in pure bliss. Knowingly a purpose unchanging. A love so true it is a rare thing. / SDPope
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MisunderstoodIf this be another one, / Where I am wrong, / Then again there is only one thing to be done,
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Puppet masterHe is the puppet master, that has / strung his strings through my / wooden hands, played fate in
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Afraid NowSo many things have went wrong / and there's so many bad choices / there were signs there all along
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Two LoversMy cheeks against the breast of the willing to embrace my cold fingers, are clammy with perspiration the hot air thirsts for. Every racing pulse amplified out of sound into vibration is a symphony of racing music into braille for our living hearts. Our pleasure met with caution, pacing each stroke, is personifying true dependence seizing our moment. My weight featherless, embracing welcoming arms intertwining, delights our insecure minds with assured acts of permission. Every motion increasing steamy exhales, scented ecstasy defuses from my love origin. My walls collapse with silent ripples, and constant oral doings, is an awesome relief. My eyes again meet disbelievingly upon the mounting passenger arisen from my open heaven. Every ****** of passion intensifies building stronger yearnings for grasping this entire ****** I am exploding inside and rippling out, every wave a breath on my lips. My shoulder is met with shoulder lying in silent breath's fouled with the presence of two lovers.
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Love Your MemoryI could be here for you, / and would you be there for me, / The words you speak, I do,
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RetchedO, the retched, retched day, dreams have been shattered, oh delay. / What come of those fantasies, come away as soon as a misty day. / Oh, what seductive, seductive illusions, that played the keys to my amuseions. What come of the blessed tunes, come away as soon as confusions.
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Misery BornI was born for misery in every way / When God came by I was fast asleep / when the devil spoke he said I was cheap
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