#adultish
I'm an open book,
if I love you.
You can read me, whenever...
and however, you like.
By rote...by rite...
by favored passage...
...Rough, or smooth.
...Strong, or gentle.
My pages, will bend, to you...
and press, crisply
towards the texture,
of your intimate touch.
They'll shiver, and spin, for you.
Peruse, my chapters.
Absorb, my thesis.
Allow me, to teach you
the rhythm, of me
until you can speak it,
like a second language.
You can slide your fingers,
down the hard ridges, of my spine,
and break me open,
upon your tabletop.
You can laze, in a dim corner
with me, sprawled
across the thickness, of your lap,
begging you...
to thumb the creases,
and to whisper,
over the wall, of words.
I'm an open book...
until you hurt me.
Then the covers, swing swiftly closed,
like French doors...
unmindful, of fingers.
May 3
May 3, 2026 at 7:56 AM UTC
I wake, to the rhythm, of you
breaking slowly, behind my ribcage.
The orchestral swell;
the auric light, of rosy dawn...
blooming, to new life.
More, than a phantom.
More, than a phantasm.
I yearn, to be wound, around you,
in long, lingering threads,
of bruisy, purple-gold daylight,
and pull tight, as I knit myself,
around your stretched form...
soft-skinned, and sleepy...
pulling you so tight to me,
that your body barely rocks
upon the edge, of the tapestry needle.
Let my legs, be the woven fabric,
that ensnares your hips,
and pulls you, even closer, to me.
I want to feel, your rippling laughter
burble, through your chest.
I want to swim, in languorous strokes,
the fathoms, of your aching mind,
with the ease, of turning your thoughts:
flipping through its dog-eared pages,
like the well-read chapters,
of a readily studied, book.
My arms, seek to hold you,
and cradle you, to me,
lips, pressed to your skin,
plush, and satin pillow soft.
I want to devour you, in rapacious,
repeated kisses...I want to feel
the spring-coiled tension,
above your shoulders, snap, and unwind
relaxing, in helpless surrender,
at my nymphic touch,
as the rest, of you...hardens, like resin
and then melts away,
between my own spread,
buttery thighs.
I want to be so filled,
with the full, of you,
that you spill over, and escape...
I want to clutch your face,
in the tenderness of my fingertips,
and lose myself, in the labyrinth
of your lovely, dreaming eyes.
I need you, like flowers,
need gentle rains, to bloom.
I desire, you...like the prime, of night,
awaiting the the rising moon.
and I wait, for you...
like the guitar string solo,
in a beloved tune.
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 7:43 AM UTC
To kiss upon the pleasurable place,
would smiles venture...
But beware...
to many
and you'll be wiping your face
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 1:26 PM UTC
25...
When you were a kid you thought that you would be married by now
Have it all figured out
The career
The home
The car
The kids
Now you're here and holy ****
Do we ever really figure it out?
Adulting is hard
Your Facebook feed is filling up with engagements and baby announcements
but your reading the newsfeed in the liquor isle of Safeway
Beer or wine tonight? Hmm maybe *****
"Psh who wants to be a boring married couple"
That's what you think to yourself
Trying to convince yourself that it's okay
Drown out that little voice in your head saying "you're gonna be alone forever"
It's like walking on a tightrope
One side you have it together and the other side you still might as well be that 21 year old college student ordering shots at the bar
If someone has this figured out- hit a homie up
Until then, I'm just doing me and I guess I'm doing fine
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 4:30 AM UTC
*With a silken cloth and some silken ties
he binds her hands and covers her eyes*
*A single feather and a bucket of ice
to tickle her senses so very nice*
*Searing passion causes her to tingle
when melting ice and tongue do mingle*
*Moans of pleasure does fill the night
when together as one, passion takes flight*
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 2:35 PM UTC