Now,
Sitting on my porch
legs swinging.
Ripped jeans exposing,
ripped fishnet leggings beneath
sticky cherry *** imprints
staining
the bottoms of my feet
waiting for friends
its finally summer
and I think,
I might just survive.

If your the type
to only breathe through
the stitches
of your camisole.
And if you always taste like mint,
when kissed on the mouth.
Just because you don't want them smell,
the self hate.
That resides in the back
of your throat
in your breath.

You're also the type
to call me up
six am
asking for a
Friend

I love you lips when they are wet with wine
and red with a wild desire;
I love your eyes when the lovelight lies
lit with passionate fire.
I love your arms when the warm white flesh
touches mine in a warm embrace;
I love your hair when the strands emmesh
your kisses against my face.

Not for me the cold, calm kiss
of a virgins bloodless love;
not for me the saints white bliss,
nor the heart of a spotles dove.
But give the love that so freely gives
and laughs at the whole worlds blame,
with your body so young and warm  in
My arms
it sets my poor heart aflame.

So kiss me with your warm wet mouth
still fragrant with ruby wine
and say with a favour born of the south
that your body and soul are mine
hold me close in your warm young arms,
while the pale stars shine above,
and we'll live our whole young lives away
in the joys of a living love.