muppetlips

He stood against the car, His hand was lingering. I watched it linger, Intrigued by the finger, The fingers, The touch of the tips, The hood and his grip. Oh to be a shield of metal, That he would touch me so. And he pulled one from his pack, He lit it. Slow intake. How I would take You. Take you slowly, Into my lungs and loins and Tongue and joys And pains and tears And breast and years Forever and ever Amen. The denim clutched him close, I could feel the gap between our skin. The exact measurements In centimeters Between our lips, Between our kiss, Between every part of me That was not pressed Pressed Against

I had managed to maneuver through your impressive implications, Your deceptive delineations: All the pictures you propounded That you did not paint for me. And I managed to get past The passing pleasantries, discrete, The praise you laid down at my feet, The lovely language you provided That provided we should meet. But… I carried the capacity for carelessness With no attempt to overcome, …And I lost myself inside of you. Lost everything, Lost all the true And real And misguided things That I'd ever wanted to believe. And it's so lovely to be proven wrong, So painful to be wholly wrong. Have you ever thought That intuit

I've got a week to sit and wait to move To where I can be close to you And that's the place to be Being with you— Being with me— And sometimes I can barely breathe When I think of you inside of me. And it's so hot— That very thought-- I've got to stop Or I'll collapse, Hand in my lap, Missing you tonight. ...Maybe that would be alright. I've got three hours to look natural I'll take my time to get my fill So that I can believe you when you say That you think I'm beautiful today. And tonight's our night To get it right Like every time We've been there. And maybe that night In dark, dimmed light We can ourselves ignite

one bolt-- electricity: sparks, fire. sweet burning death-- collapsed lungs. lost breath: flowing into someone else's body: softly. and this surrender, it takes me. pulls my heart into my throat and I can feel it beating... beating...beat...be...(pause) stop. Nothing. Grave. Earth.  Hymns. Crowds. Black. my breath in you. my heart estranged-- this tiny death is really living.

You've got everything so far away just out of reach, but if you prayed-- maybe you could grasp it. Cause it's tangible, it's tasteable-- On not so many days. So feel free to indulge next time you're next to me. Your fantasies: they come in me, just like you. (Or in my dreams.) And this is what romance is like Every time that you're around. And this is my best love story. Because I'm writing this one down.

There's so much trust that you're not going to hit me. So much trust when I'm lying there. You didn't force it and I didn't intend to but it came three times... You should know:  I still care-- about your little moans and your grasping hands-- about your holding me-- No other man has held this fascination, this lubrication, this interest in my destination-- and I don't know!! I don't know where this is going or how long it'll take to get there. I don't know if I deserve you. I don't know if you're prepared. How long will we last? How tough is our skin? How thick is this bond? How quick to give in? I love you.   Ya h

I have only my memories to clutch to my frame on those cold, lonely nights... Every night is cold and lonely. And though your heat is missing, a faint glow of its warmth spreads over me, forever we will never shiver again. And if you fall asleep each night feeling parts of you are missing: be comforted and know that they are safe within my heart. For your fingertips, I have them-- They still trace inside my palms... Your lips, they never left my head. They too, from you are gone. Your eyes still burn into me. I can feel them on my skin. I'm sorry to have stolen them, but I won't give them back again. I, too, am missing se

There are those days where you wake up and know...that the next 12-18 hours are going to be Hell. It would have done me well to not sleep last night.  It was strained.  Artificial.  It was the sugar-substitute of rest.  The low-carb brownie of relaxation.  At first I couldn't stop shaking.  Then I'd wake constantly, realizing how uncomfortable I was; how I was burning up; how nothing seemed to stop it...like how I would imagine fire feels the moment before it sears your skin. I woke to hammering and screeching.  It sounded as if they were drilling holes into twenty kittens, all at once--right in the room below me.  Feels like I'm going to f