The fantasies of love; I fancy myself
a glove— holding onto old befores, and
wearing out the test of time

A girl I would proudly call mine
Bribe my way into making a memory my bride; two
seductions of the tied ties, sleeping together at the odds night
And to wake up with a reasonable excuse to be tired

But I've tried to be like a peck of flightless birds—
no reason to fly south like the rest. As I encouraged
her to rest under my wing, upon my smothered talk in
her *******

Two crushing walls on my face in between thighs,
and her ****** being a tall tower close to rise
But I despise the extra seconds it takes to build up
her high. And why like vampires ****, is because
they don't use much of their tongue

But by the batting of her eyes, she is close to come,
to a point of returning a tip of this favourable fun

Strip of fabric folded
Darkening the day
So that you not see
Desire radiating

*** cherry red
Soft hands clapping
Flushing the cheeks
And then you smile

I want to be your teeth
So that your tongue
Is constantly touching
Feeling and licking

Black cat arched back
Fingers arachnid running
Descending and deliberate
I want to be your teeth

My tongue be rubbing all over your ****,
Then the rest of that ***** I kiss,
That morning bliss,
I wanna lick on her until she ****,
Where you going don't you run,
Your juices is what I want,
I wanna feel you and taste you,
Breakfast,lunch,dinner and dessert.
You're the only thing I have a appetite for,
You got the recipe for whatever I need,
No need to beg nor plead,
But you're the only thing I wanna eat,
My favorite thing to eat and please is you.

on our first date,
you asked,
what that mouth does,

now,
let me ask the same to you,
but besides lying.

A memory is just a story altered.
Every recall differs from the one before it.
The details will fade, though the essence remains.

An orator of the mind spins the tales,
Our experiences catalogue them.

The bitter ones grow even more bitter.
The happy ones grow even happier.

But this mind of mine refused my request.
Figuring some memories are best,
left behind.

And so in my unremembering,
I ponder the splendid and mundane,
that has all been locked away.