Skip to content


February 11, 2013


Honey, you’re so very young.
Your blood and breeding, let it run.
Through your hair.
And down your back.
Between your legs.
Onto my tongue.

Filthy rich and infamous.
Doused in perfume.
Drenched in sweat.
Itching with your dissonance.
Drunk on charm.
Unquenched and wet.

The things I want, you’ll never know.
I sit and watch the blossom grow.
Not quite like the other boys.
A little slow, a little coy.
Here’s your ticket and here’s your show.
But please don’t think the doors are free.
Every line I ever wrote.
Was a line I slipped around your throat.

Because I want to watch you want me.
I don’t want your body or your lust.
I only ever want to see.
When you love me and I leave you.
Your beautiful backbone turn to dust.


From → Poetry

Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: