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.
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 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?
My hands as the servants of
an exploratory mind
would search your face, your head.
Phrenology a study that wants
that smooth highway from your mind
to your physique
I would suckle and lick to find
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
I'd wrap my aura around yours
to form psychadelia.
I'd like to wrap my arms around
And hold your body from
clavicle to hip
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
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.
I'm not that sort of girl
Copyright; Sophie Jean
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