It doesn’t matter if you have blemishes from those who’ve shaped you;

you are beautiful- lean and tall,

getting thicker as my eyes travel down.

Some say you’re traditional but that’s what makes you, well, you.


Don’t get me wrong; it’s not all about looks.

The things in that pretty little head of yours-


What you put me through has me craving for more.

Sometimes those sweet, sweet thoughts in that head of yours

has me melting further into my seat with each exhale.

Other times, you’re so cold the depths of my throat sting,

sending my entire being into a cataclysm.

Sometimes you’re both.

An intoxicating cocktail.


And as I sit with you, holding you in my hand,

time becomes sedated, and I realize,

with each inhale of your mystique,

I am caught in my awareness of all my worries.

I hold you for just a few seconds, collecting the details of my  negativities,

And then I exhale.


I exhale all my worries,

all my problems, all my failures

in this huge cloud that swirls into curls and

fades away.

And I’m left to drown in an euphoric pool.

I’m so numb with passion, I can’t help but kiss you again.



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