PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Hey! You!



Yeah, you with that

"I've got nearly enough on my plate

but I'd like a serving of you

dressed in nothing more than massage oil"

look in your eyes.



You know,

I'd just love to kiss you.

I've got this kissing urge that goes way beyond

lips and skin and saliva and tongue.

You know, that sort of kissing urge

that just leads on and on to

all senses tingling

and screaming

and begging for more.



Yeah, I'd love to kiss you

Full, firmly on the smacker

so that our breath mingles

and the sweet secretions of

our mouths, open to each other,

blend and brew.

I'd really like to kiss you - can you tell?



And then,

My hands as the servants of

an exploratory mind

would search your face, your head.

Phrenology a study that wants

examining further.



Your neck,

that smooth highway from your mind

to your physique

I would suckle and lick to find

Your pulse.

Your lifeblood.



I'd like to take the lobe of your ear

between my teeth

and tease your aural sensibilities

with the ramblings of my tongue.



I'd like to look deep down into your eyes

and open up your soul to

searing scrutiny.

I'd wrap my aura around yours

to form psychadelia.



I'd like to wrap my arms around

your shoulders

And hold your body from

clavicle to hip

tightly

Against the corresponding parts of me.

I'd like to feel the pressure of your

abs, pecs, thighs

As they fill and flow beneath

their smooth casing.

I'd like to watch them,

make them pumped

and play with them.



I'd like to use my nails against your back

and send morse messages

of lust and desire

through your spinal chord.

I'd follow each rib, each disc

serving as a sub-station

for my dictation.

I'd tattoo these thoughts and dreams

through to yours.



I'd like to massage your fantasies

into pliancy

and sculpt them into form.



I'd like to wrap your legs around

my legs around you

and pull you into me.

I'd like to make you climax so that

your brain loses all sense of

reality, time, rationalism and focus

and swells instead with a mantra

that means more.



I'd like to take you on that rollercoaster

where every loop is the crest of a breaking wave

that spirals down and around

and back until

ups and downs

seem no more like directions

but a never-ending montage.



I'd like to meld our bodies into one

joyous ball of energy

bouncing on the pleasurable see-saw

of ecstasy and bliss.







But I won't.





For,



I'm not that sort of girl

any more.