Your Voice
April 7th 2009 05:08
Why did I become a poet?
When nothing I write can describe your voice?
Why didn't I just become a fly on the wall?
So I could just sit there like a discarded pair of sweaty women's undies full of cum stuck to the wall and just listen to the melodies you produce between your legs?
I was seriously going to write a really nice poem. I think I got a bit carried away.
But that's the effect your voice has on me.
All I think about is consummating whatever it is we consummate when two people get down and dirty.
I used to write really good poetry. I don't know what happened.
No-one appreciates my sense of humour. That's what it is.
But you do, baby.
I'll make you laugh. I'll make you cry.
I only want one thing from you. Just love me.
Well okay. Two things. Speak to me in that voice of yours that makes all the music in the world seem meaningless.
Just breathe. And I'll listen to it.
Your breath is as precious as your soul to me.
The way you talk about taking advantage of me? That really gets me going.
I think I'll give poetry a miss baby, and just write to you on my blog. It doesn't matter that no-one else knows who I'm writing to. You do. And that's all that matters.
There's just not enough love in the world. And you have so much to give. I'll take everything you throw at me.
I think I'm over poetry. Fuck me.
Are you ready for the ride of your life? There will never be a dull moment when we're together. Every moment will be precious.I'll watch you do anything. Because it's you doing it. It can be the simplest action. But I'll be rapt. Or enraptured. Because it will be you doing it.
Love gives you wings baby. It makes you fly into places you avoided. And it's not about angels treading with fear.
Anyway, I will write a decent poem about your voice one day. As soon as I hear it in my ear not just over the phone.
I'm not even going to go over this. What I wrote I wrote. I was thinking about you while I wrote it, and that's all that really matters. Writing is overrated. Good sex is better.
Put your best stockings on and get ready to have them ripped off.
When nothing I write can describe your voice?
Why didn't I just become a fly on the wall?
So I could just sit there like a discarded pair of sweaty women's undies full of cum stuck to the wall and just listen to the melodies you produce between your legs?
I was seriously going to write a really nice poem. I think I got a bit carried away.
But that's the effect your voice has on me.
All I think about is consummating whatever it is we consummate when two people get down and dirty.
I used to write really good poetry. I don't know what happened.
No-one appreciates my sense of humour. That's what it is.
But you do, baby.
I'll make you laugh. I'll make you cry.
I only want one thing from you. Just love me.
Well okay. Two things. Speak to me in that voice of yours that makes all the music in the world seem meaningless.
Just breathe. And I'll listen to it.
Your breath is as precious as your soul to me.
The way you talk about taking advantage of me? That really gets me going.
I think I'll give poetry a miss baby, and just write to you on my blog. It doesn't matter that no-one else knows who I'm writing to. You do. And that's all that matters.
There's just not enough love in the world. And you have so much to give. I'll take everything you throw at me.
I think I'm over poetry. Fuck me.
Are you ready for the ride of your life? There will never be a dull moment when we're together. Every moment will be precious.I'll watch you do anything. Because it's you doing it. It can be the simplest action. But I'll be rapt. Or enraptured. Because it will be you doing it.
Love gives you wings baby. It makes you fly into places you avoided. And it's not about angels treading with fear.
Anyway, I will write a decent poem about your voice one day. As soon as I hear it in my ear not just over the phone.
I'm not even going to go over this. What I wrote I wrote. I was thinking about you while I wrote it, and that's all that really matters. Writing is overrated. Good sex is better.
Put your best stockings on and get ready to have them ripped off.
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Comment by Mistersmith
MRS SMITH
READ THIS
SISTERS IN CRIME
I love your poetry.
Comment by Lady Henrietta Muddling
Potter in a Harry
Can you pass me a wine, and I'll read some to you.