Love of my life,
I never wanted
To be
Your wife.
Or any man's for that matter.
All the stress and the
Strife
Hangs heavy
In the air.
You could
Cut it
With a knife, perhaps.
I stand
Naked
With sinful scars to bear.
Though you hastily forgave.
Leaving parts of me untamed
Ashamed.
Grabbing a man's
Attention
Never was a problem,
But the fact that it wasn't was.
Loving you blind because
I'm blind
Without your love
Leaving
Me
Longing for a white picket fence.

Must
the wild inside be
ashamed
for trust
I tried but cannot
claim

Lust
-y lying little
brain
Fussed
because I was to
blame

Mus
-ter up a bit of
confidence
to see you with another

The wild inside
simply must
be tamed

Or
maybe I shouldn't
bother...

Temporarily
So temporary
Words are
All that last
If they're lasting
The past
Stays in the past
And everything is quickly passing
And like a
Worn out dog toy
We picked up the pieces just to
Throw it all away
Forgotten altogether or
Fading memories
In old picture frames
Fleeting
Missed the last train
Slipping
Sand through an hourglass
I'm not ready
But only temporary
Is this feeling in me
Tomorrow it won't matter
And I
Won't mind
In my temporary mind
Temporary thoughts may even
See it as beautiful
Beautiful and temporary
Is this love
Like the
Morning dew
Meaningless
Like jabberwocky
And lasting
Is this life
Lasting
Temporarily

Taste me
With every bud on your
Tongue
She reminded.
Every tiny
Tingling
Bud,
Savoring sweet.

Hear me,
She urged,
Every vibrant
Vibration
Rattling rhythmic.

Inhale me
With all of
The strength in your
Motivated lungs
She advised.
Let me linger
Lustfully
In the pillows.

See me.
Not the reflection
In your meloncholy eyes,
She warned.

And he knew what to do
When the time came
And he felt her
With each
And *every
Nerve
In his body.
And he remembered her warmth.

And he knew what to do
When the tides turned.
And he knew what to do
When she told him
To miss her madly.
But he didn't know
What to do when

She was gone.

On Mondays I appreciate my lover.

And on Tuesdays my thoughts wander to another.

On Wednesday I'm a free bird.

And Thursday I'm in need.
On a cold one I may even cling.

But Friday I'd prefer an older man.
Friday night I like 'em young.

When Saturday rolls around I lust for a softer touch,
Except in Spring I want to be thrown ******* my back.

But by mid-Sunday my head may clear
and sometime before Monday I choose to comfort myself

In your arms.