You there,
I love you.
You are so sweet,
I admire you.
You are so sharp,
I like you.
You look less cute now,
But I bet you were the cutest child.
I love talking to myself,
This was about the kid in me.

Midriff burning sensation,
Exactly as if it will explode,
Nocturnal timings help,
Stark daylight is undesirable,
Troublesome five days,
Ripe burning inside the temple of life,
Under the wicked sky,
Awry is the cup for collection,
Lopsided is its construction.

Cusping the proof of life,
Unfailing burning sensation,
Pouting by the end of a month.

Beyond sacred geometry,
Hides a dark secret.

A secret of stolen symbols,
And stolen concepts.

I lay prone on the bed.
What's under me?
Under me is my gun,
This gun has a gazillion bullets,
What for? For shooting towards you,
And where are you?
You lie further underneath me,
You lie supine, with your hills grazing my torso.

I touch your soft hills with my strong hands,
And you make sounds in ecstasy, not the drug, but the experience.
My gun travels in & out of your *****,
And your nails dig deeper into my back.

You express pleasure,
My sweat drips on your throat.
You express pain,
My pace increases in ecstasy.

You start squirming underneath,
You vibrate furiously along me,
I shoot my excited gun at last,
What for?
No, not for taking your life,
But as you are my wedded wife,
Together we should create new life.

You whimper,
I whisper.
You cry,
I pry.
You are relieved,
I am pleased.
We are successful.

In between my legs
is my missile and
I want to launch
it to your crotch.

You are so beautiful,
As if right from my dream.

I'm very lucky that you are in my life,
To my thoughts, you give positivity.

Now soon be my wedded wife,
You are a blessing in disguise.

You are so mindful,
As if here to stay forever.

Even during the darkest of nights,
I am with this thought of my future,
Nothing scares me just enough to stop.

Even during the blackest of days,
I am with the memory of time past,
Nothing depresses me enough to pop.

Even during those hours of blues,
I dispel each of the purples in strait,
Because in being sad, I find just glop.