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Estelle Mar 2016
The end of the disintegration
not just missing the companionship
but the swelling of seas and the thought
of ships colliding.
I don't miss you nearly as much I miss your touch.

I miss your inner thighs,
your loud moans
and cries -
of pleasure.
As I stroked you
up and down,
and swirled my tongue
kissing you in hidden places.

My legs up high,
your heart,
your face
between my legs,
me convulsing.

As the slow flicker
of your tongue across
the top of me,
makes me swell
like the rageous of seas.

I swear I won't
hold it against you,
just you against me,
and when the fun is over -
I won't resist to let you free.

Just let me know in this,
this feeling of reminisce...
If I'm alone in it.
That you miss the clashing of
our bodies and the way
our bodies meld.
and I'm not the only one in Texas
who wouldn't mind being held.
Estelle Jan 2015
Somebody mix in some yellow

color me something new.
Estelle Feb 2014
If monogamy is it’s own form of sickness
If those in ‘love’ are those in illness 

If those moving on are those in stillness 

If the calm before the storm is really
what you should prepare for
Estelle Nov 2013
I want to sweep you away;
keep you swimming in my sea.
Never to drown you,
but to set you free.

Saltwater lips
have an awful lot to say
If you’re lucky  
to have the privilege
of being swept away.
Estelle Nov 2013
I wish like hell I were a Jackie
but I'm more ****** up
than you know.
That's why I'll never be a Jackie
and I'll always be Marilyn Monroe.
Estelle Jan 2013
I was raised on grain alcohol

and prayer. And if that's

not a powerful combination,

I don't know what is.

I blow up volcanoes daily,

So, you really shouldn't

of come as a surprise.

I realize I can't play

cards, or board games well.

But I'm the best liar

you ever saw. I also

know well enough to know

these words are inert -

they don't mean a thing.

Like this hand on my

thigh, what's the use?

But the hand, like the eye,

has it's purpose.

So, who am I

to interrupt it's job?

A mouths job, on the

other hand, is never done.

From the wine it sips,

to the licking of lips.

It's the only anchor

keeping me from your seas.

But alas,  I have retired

my spectacles. My bleak eyes

have grown old.  So,  

I keep them closed these days,

pretending it's you I hold.

For blind, or for worse...

the better to dream

of you, my dear.
Estelle Jan 2013
Ah, what a tangled web we weave

lives can't be written -

as ****** up as these.

Another page written,

one more floor swept.

As waters getting frozen,

where ice will be kept.

I can't sleep like a jezebel

but I've still got a need.

Lives can't be written -

as ****** up as these.
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