It’s true that I’m a beginner in most ways. But I learn fast if taught right.
Never had to fake for rich people, but I can learn. Never told a lover I love them, but I can learn. Never had ***, but I can learn.
It’s the experience.
Now I get it. It’s not a question of quality or quantity, merely question of experience in a world of inexperience.
But how can one learn
If none will teach?

Absolutely no way around it anymore.....
What if I told you I loved you?

Oh, how I long to taste your lips, how I wish to hold your hand.
How I long to do something crazy, maybe **** I don’t understand.

**** and sensuous, freezing me solid.
My mind has been replaced with an insatiable lust for you. It’s gripping me roughly like I grip you.
My hands no longer caress your hips, instead they grip them generously and pull you closer. Head spinning, from smooches to kisses, we become more intimate with each lean in.
Then comes the things none shall tell.
Maybe soon bodies will be entwined, maybe one day moans shall escape. But on such a day, my mind will escape me. I will be operated not by love
But purely lust for our sensuality

Honey droplets form at the edge of somber eyes
Tears I long to leaf away.
She is angry, same as always
Because her love has gone astray.
But what she doesn’t know is that love don’t go,
It simply fades and appears.
Yet she can’t see when she looks at me
That I can erase her fears.

You must not love a poet.

A poem is the formation of love in written form, even when chanting or venting or raving.
A poet is a being of emotion whose outlet they’re constantly craving.
You over-look me simply because you see that I am volcanic as lust
And you know that for my love/lava flow, I can turn a heart to dust.

But I still lust you.

A trigger of feeling, a headache of horror, we are one and we are the same
A body for ***, a mind for intimacy, being of love and beings of shame.
Heated in chill and frozen in warmth, we are lust, ***, and passion.
Thus I offer you as a poet, here, I give you my attraction.

Honey droplets form at the edge of somber eyes
Tears I long to leaf away.
She is angry, same as always
Because her love has gone astray.

My dream is not distorted, but I do not see your sin
My eyes must be blinded by the position you’re in.
You’re my dream girl for life, I’m crazy for you like I’m crazy for love.
You toy with my mind so amazingly that I know it must be love.

You are an attempt for me to find knowledge of self through someone else’s efforts. I know your name as being synonymous with mine. We are a life our own, a chilling realization of how easily we fell.
Or tripped.
Do you see the same emotion through your eyes, or is this one-sided? Please let me know. Because I’m in love, I’m in lust.
I’m in heaven.
So show me that my heaven isn’t a mere mirage

Dream Girl

So young and wild, she’s a southern child.
Her heart of expression and her smile of the sky.
I can’t tell you my luck just to be her guy.
I’m so lonely without her that I can’t deny.
And if she isn’t pleased, I will find out why.

His love is liken to hers: infinite, never wasting.
A flavor I savor steady at tasting.
His Love is desired, but who shall give it to who?
He holds it tight, so none may have it, but there’s access for you.

Decadent, delicious dark desire with a warm taste, it’s love.
The main ingredient in the mix, the best that I know of.
Fun and fuzzy feelings of fantasy, she spoils a heart in truth.
And it makes me think of how it would be if we were still together in youth.

Wet and warm, a quiet storm, no rains, but sound is mild.
So soft and sweet, so young and wild, by god, she’s a southern child.

My head clouds with old memories that I can’t shake. I can’t express, but expression still shows.
What is it that’s making my head flow the way it is? It’s stinging me to the point of aching my heart. The past is crowding me now and I can’t escape the initial feelings of hurt that I placed on myself. I’m aching in every way, burning in every heat, and crying in every tissue.
There was love in the poet, now there is none.
There was life in this being, now he is empty. What’s the matter with me? What’s happening to my heart?
There’s a rising power in my body in the form of emotion. I can’t control it, but I can draw from it like energy. It’s Built so high that nothing will stop its escape but escape itself.
But I can’t let it out.
I can’t let an entity become my reality. I deserve to be free of this emotion and be an open book for somebody who shall fill my pages with love and trust.
I deserve redemption and deserve the prosperity that comes with it.
But I don’t have it.
So I must stay content with myself, poem after poem of false emotion. Day after day of fake feelings. Hour after hour of missing love. And now the lonely has returned.
Stronger than it ever was before. I can see it every time I close my eyes. I miss the past, so I live in it. It’s true, my past is my reality, my future is omnipresent.
I am a weeping willow in the middle of the botanical garden, sad, life-drained, sick looking. But I am just as beautiful as any other plant in the garden, in fact, maybe more so. But I just want a heart who wants mine. Please, god, stop this maddening emptiness in me. I feel like clawing out the sockets in the walls as the rain breaks the roof and pours onto my raging body.
The thirst has returned. That feeling of needing something so much that it seems essential. I am starved of lust and lacking the healthy love that comes with it.
I need Love.