• I'm just ecstatic that you can't write poetry

    Words flow smooth,
    like soft serve ice cream sliding
    from a purring machine
    and settling in soft white mounds.

    Lascivious letters slide down your throat,
    hmm, mmm, oh! oh! oh!
    Tastes like expensive wine
    paid for by a lover.

    Your intolerant blood slurs,
    trembles, and sloshes
    'til the world is a view
    from the seat of a roller-coaster.

    At 8 g-forces the vision goes;
    along with the rest of the body.
    Caressing this carcass is not
    the magic we were looking for.

    Trussed up in glamour,
    even the ugliest lies seem clean.
    As long as we keep the lights off,
    this disjointed tale will keep.

    I liked the first story better,
    the one without words.
    Movements and moments
    when eyes locked without shame.

    They felt:
    "I love you."