I sat down today and thought of a face—
with kind curves and welcoming eyes,
with a smile that could illuminate a space,
and warm the chilled voids betwixt thighs.
So I snatched up a pen and scribbled like mad,
an articulate letter on said visage so divine—
pages upon pages of marvelous musings—
hunger dripping off of each line.
Then my hands finished working, my fingers at rest,
observing my mess of inked letters and blots.
One simple message derived from it all:
“You’re in my inappropriate thoughts.”
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
I sat down today and thought of a face—
with kind curves and welcoming eyes,
with a smile that could illuminate a space,
and warm the chilled voids betwixt thighs.
So I snatched up a pen and scribbled like mad,
an articulate letter on said visage so divine—
pages upon pages of marvelous musings—
hunger dripping off of each line.
Then my hands finished working, my fingers at rest,
observing my mess of inked letters and blots.
One simple message derived from it all:
“You’re in my inappropriate thoughts.”
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