i feel his hands on me
the pads of his fingers
soft as new snow
yet warm to the touch
exciting a fire in me

running fingers through my hair
a stream of auburn locks
but his lips
oh his lips
the way those peach pink lips part
and collide with mine
is like the brilliance of a thousand stars

his skin is warm as if he baked in the sun all day
i can practically hear the drumbeat rhythm of his heart
thrum, thrum, thrum
beating in-synch with mine
as his cheeks flush red
i feel like i’m his
but i’m not
almost
almost
almost enough

At this point, I'm surprised I manage to wake up,
when every night is plagued with dreams of you,
caressing my fragile body, and then plunging into it like it doesn't mean two ***** to you.
Every night it's the same dream, and I wake up smelling of sweat,
but it's not the same as yours, an aroma that haunts me even in my sleep.
See, when a man like me desires,
he desires with more than just his heart and mind.
He desires with his nose, his lips, his hands and his tongue,
his eyes, his ears, and with the tips of his toes.
Not unlike the fantastic houses we used to build between periods.
Not unlike the make-believe we used to play during recess.
So, my friend, let's make-believe one last time:
I'll pretend to be a woman,
and you'll pretend to be in love,
and I'll finally find myself in your warm embrace.

Jammed up with noise in my ears
I hear at times like this
It becomes easy to ignore
A face full of snot and tears
Like a fresh bowl of ****
Dissonance warms me to the core

All of my pain disappears
With a deafening kiss
I can be such a ******* *****
When the cacophony sheers
Straight through the dark abyss
Covering me in blood and gore