I wonder,
were we...
Roman lovers?
with laurel wreathes
and toga covers?
Or maybe
we were
cowboy robbers?
Maybe we were
outlawed 'shiners.
I just know that
I know you
from somewhere.
This isn't
the first go-round
for you
and me.
We were something
before
in some kind of
capacity
Maybe we we're royalty.
Maybe you were
betrothed to me;
maybe we fought,
and maybe you ruled,
and maybe my father
gave me over
to you.
I'll bet you were older, still.
I bet
I still argued with you.
I bet
I still kissed you
like I had
always loved you.
Maybe you
were married
Maybe I
was, too.
Maybe
we were strangers,
or secrets from others,
Maybe I married you.
Maybe we had sons.
Each
just as handsome
and strong as
the next one.
Maybe I worked
for you,
with you,
or against you.
Maybe I cracked your shell,
Maybe you made me fall,
maybe we were
the other's glue.
and I bet
we still looked
Just like we do now.
I bet your eyes
were that syrupy
blue suede goo
And I bet
I still wanted you.
Needed you.
Baited you.
Waited and stayed with you.
I bet I still strung
your world
on a string.
And I bet in
whatever
lifetime it was,
we had the very best of
everything.
I bet we were a team.
I bet we still
undid
the other at the seams.
I bet you
woulda died for me,
Robin Hood.
I bet you were a knight
with cool armor
and a sword.
Or maybe
I took care of you,
Maybe we met
in a tent,
you in camo
stained with blood,
a white skirt
to my knees.
Maybe
I saved you.
Maybe you
saved me.
Maybe you're
my Daddy Warbucks,
I always did find him
****
Maybe
we were patriots
and met
in a tavern.
maybe on the
Titanic
and you spoke
German
Maybe
we were neighbors.
Maybe you
were my professor,
Dr. Indiana Jones.
Just as ****
in a classroom
as you'd be
scoping out a tomb.
There's something you emit
that draws me back
to a moment
that's blurry and distant
but I know that
I miss it.
If a thousand years ago
you ran
your fingers
through my hair.
or two hundred and twenty
since the last time
our flame flared,
we're burning hot as
and been in business
just the same as
Hell's furnance.
Unpredictable
as Vesuvius
I think by now
my old soul
can smell yours
a mile
away.
I think your eyes
spill your secrets
like broken
flood gates.
I think I've seen
every micro
expression cross your face
at one point in
all of my
foggy visions,
and I breathe in
the vapors
of what we
can't remember
and I'm soggy
in your arms.
Who knows
how many of my lifetimes
you've already charmed.
And still I want you.
And need you.
And bait you.
Wait and stay
with you.
Behind closed doors
we could fill a room
with the ghosts from our histories.
I can remember that
the moment
you kiss me.
This alchemy
has existed
for centuries.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
Only my beloved
could walk into
NASA
in Dickies, and work boots,
with astronauts
and business suits.
Because my beau
shoots
for the stars
He wages bright wars.
He is clever and
resourcefully smart.
He's also hopelessly,
harmlessly
terse.
And only
my beloved
could cut wood
and cuddle
seamlessly keeping
close to me
and keeping me warm.
And his hands
are perfect,
and his eyes
get hooded
by his chocolate colored brows
that I adore
when he frowns.
My beloved
is handsome and strong.
Princely
and brawn.
He keeps me safe
warm and worn.
He's broad
walking charm,
he's just a boy
with a barn.
Is it funny
I said
when I was a kid
that I'd grown up
to fall down for
a man with a. farm?
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
He-Man, Hulk or
Hercules;
it doesn't really
matter
to me.
I wish you could see
the man that I see.
If pumping iron
gets you off,
or if it makes you
feel more tough,
it doesn't really matter to me.
All you'll
ever be
is the man that I see.
But don't lose your neck
to dead lifts.
And don't cover up
that tiny
little gut
You're so quick to **** in.
Stop smiling
with your mouth closed;
I already know
about that crooked
front tooth
and it's stupid
of you
to try to conceal;
I think
it's cute.
Your skin,
it's perfect,
your package is
thick with
all that testosterone
you're keeping
on tap.
You're always worried or hiding
all this
or all that.
Well, I love the man
that lives in your chest.
I love his heartbeat
his laugh and
his thoughts,
his dreams and
his wants.
I love him
despite flaws
and well-muscled arms.
I love him for what he knows
what he tries not
to show;
I don't love him
for the sinew
or the dense, meaty tissue
he's so eager
to tone.
I love him
straight down to
his bones.
If you two
ever meet,
He's funny and sweet,
inherently neat
and bounding with energy
'til he falls asleep.
He's smart and he's kind,
and he's got a mind
to do whatever
he wants.
Problem is,
his confidence
often, sets him stumped.
But when he falters his guard,
and comes out of his box,
he can spark
like a shock.
I don't just
believe in him,
I wind up
seeing clear through him,
and he is
amazing;
capable
of really anything.
He's fire
and intoxicating.
I wish you could see
the man
that I see.
Maybe
you'd love him.
And maybe put
a little trust in him;
it sure works for me.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
For the first time
in a long time
I'm so scared
to be alone.
I'm scared you'll roll out,
and leave me on my own.
And what do you do
when you're
pushing thirty,
and life's left you thirsty
for love and stability?
And how do you tell that
to a handsome hillbilly?
If it was corn,
beans or guns,
action movies or trucks,
it'd be easy to discuss.
I'd have no problem
bashing welfare,
or the system **** suckers.
I'll happily sit
for hours and *****
about world affairs,
or gossip about others,
but how do we talk,
about us
as a couple?
And where is this going?
And should I be showing
any glimmer of hoping
that I'm not just
warming
your bed
for another brunette?
How come
You don't stay hard,
If I still stay wet?
Am I overreacting?
Like a stupid girl, lashing
at her own insecurities?
Or is there a shadow
of boredom I see.
I'll say this much,
at least;
If you really do love me
I'm like a mogwai;
there are careful instructions
that'll keep me
from destruction.
You've got to reassure me
that I'm not only
your only,
but that you'll always
wanna hold me.
That despite a gold ring,
and all those permanent things
I'd never ask for,
I've got to know
that It's me
you love
and adore.
That you're happy.
Not complacent.
That you're satisfied.
Not satiated.
That I still turn you on,
that you won't do me wrong,
that you think about me,
find yourself
missing me.
That you still want to kiss me.
That I've had an impact
on your steely, stone heart,
and that your big arms
are grateful
wrapped around me
in the dark.
Because from my side,
I'm sold;
not initially,
no,
but you grew on me,
sneakily,
like damp wood
grows mold.
And to be frank with you, sir,
I'm still a bit leery
of your seeming ability
to take me
or leave me,
and your closed-lip approach
on making it known
that you'll always love me
is troubling.
And, so,
If you won't..
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
Wish you’d spank me.
Wish you’d drag me.
Wish you’d
make it
known
what you own.
Wish you weren’t
such a quiet man.
Wish you were rougher
with those strong hands.
Wish
you’d insist
That I do
your dishes.
Wish you’d make me wear skirts;
Wish you’d bend me
over, then,
before dinner’s served.
Wish you’d let me
fold your shirts.
Wish you’d f*** me
til it hurts.
Wish I was
your pretty,
little, thin-waisted missy,
and you kept
your reigns tight on me.
Wish you’d
pat your leg,and
invite me into
your lap.
Wish you’d let me curl up,
beneath your muscles,
all burled up,
more often than not.
Wish I packed
your lunches,
with little surprises,
you’d be embarrassed
if other men saw.
Wish you’d oblige me
with whispers
of “ride me”
and guide me
when it’s so early,
it’s blurry,
but you’re already
stirring.
Domestic Clink,
ain’t a bad thing,
long as you got
a fella
you wanna call warden.
Long as I have
a fella
I wanna call warden,
It’s a retro kinda kink
to stand in front of
a sink.
I’ll misbehave, clearly,
But you’ll find it
endearing,
and I’ll do it
with intention,
to end up under
your hand.
A Mr. Don Draper
to put
his thumb
over me.
But I want him blue collar,
and beefy,
and solid,
I don’t want whiskey
and suits,
I want beer and
work boots,
I want that
to be you,
Because that’s
what I need;
a good man
to oversee me.
I’m just here
to please.
I should have married
in the 50s.
Equality is boredom,
I want a **** warden.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
Today it seems
the oddest thing;
I think my heels
are made up of
springs.
I’m bouncing and happy,
And can’t help
from smiling,
and I wonder
if that’s
got to do with
the fact
That I woke up
next
to you,
Your arm numb
and dripping
my drool.
And it occurred to me, then
that I’ve never seen
a better
looking
man.
Above me with
your arms around me,
your face perfectly
content.
And your blue, blue, blue,
they-make-me-love-you
eyes.
Your energetic thighs.
I can’t help but be rapt
and start gasping
for breath
when we finish;
A puddle of sweat,
my hair,
a wreck,
and you,
looking down on my face.
That arrogant smirk
you wear
like a badge
because I can’t help
that you make my legs shake.
I think I could do this forever.
I think I’d get used to
being that pretzel -
parasitic and bound
to your waist.
I confess; you are
the sexiest man
that’s ever worn
my taste.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC