Accosting me when I try to leave, a birdie guards my hand-controls in the driver’s seat. I thought I was ready.
He said, “Don’t go.”
I want to be a bird with the most melodious voice. I want words of love to count. I want to be someone who can give a dreamer some steam.
I can’t be more than me. I am no fantasy.
Tonight I need a voice…
A creative muse is a beautiful tale.
Each piece,
a pioneering puzzle,
the ultimate game of intrigue,
even intimacy,
exploring how pieces fit together
but to bare the pulchritude
buried within the secret
life of another.
What do you see
in the morning
first light of day?
What do you do to play?
Do responsibilities get in the way?
OR Do you SIEZE THE DAY!
???
I can’t stop myself
from wondering along my way.
Is romance real? I’ve never known it. Not the flattery. Not the doting or pampering. Not the candle light dinners, ending in hot sex. No random flowers. No thoughtful gifts. Not until my 50th.
Ohhh, how I want to swim with him.
A stark reality not as dark, feeling fires crackling with the most captivating, charming cerebral hug.
Creativity playing
such a game
is pure endorphins
exploding emotions
while off and on
repeat behind my eyes,
I’m reliving moments
of romantic ecstasy…
Funny…I guess I’m easy.
Momentum builds on days I force refrain, a precious madness in watching the movement progress to crescendo so slow and powerful. A perfect stranger who seems so very familiar.
On the day I was born, still reeling early morn, brain buzzing with impulsive imagery of something I had just seen on silent before sleep, I turned on a classical piece to calm the unusual shine of pleasure opon my face, lest someone notice I’m different today…
It didn’t work. Sweeping away the cob webs of the past days, I can’t help but behind my eyes see your face. I return to silence, giggling. Then, I get it out when I’m all by myself (often having an unexpected reaction so obvious you’d think I’d just gotten caught watching porn, when it’s merely just a soft, lovely, warm feeling)
In an INSTAnt, you’re there!
Bright and beautiful, showing me secrets of a treasure, unlike any I’ve ever known. My lungs constrict, my breasts inflate, for a moment of anticipation, I wait…
Hard in my hands, my phone gently shakes, and I lick my lips to begin my escape:
As I first watch you spin again and again, my eyes devour your Transcendental POWER, but then, all of a sudden, I imagine you watching me back, seeing my eyes take you in…and with the movement of your lips, the key comes to me!!!
On a loop, I find myself lightly panting. I hug myself, blood boiling my skin to prickle hot, and the final time I watch you wiggle your nose and grin radiant, tickling my brain, ensnaring my heart, penitrating me with a wild and wet ride again and again and again, tingling so deep my soul grabs hold and never wants to let go…
Overjoyed, tears of gratitude grow in the corners of my eyes in adoration and love for the man behind the mirrored glow.
The POINT: The inspiration you exude is intoxicating, thank you❤️🔥
Always reading as a child in some dark corner, my mind would take an idea and make it into the most outrageous thing, then off on a brain trip, I’d keep myself entertained. I think in pictures and phrases, and repetition gives me comfort as a creature of habit.
There’s no off switch for someone like me.
As an adult, my eyes see things and make an imprint for me to experience repeatedly until palpable…and I get emotional.
I don’t watch or play games on my phone, honestly, I can barely use it, therefore, it’s an intimacy I’m not used to. I think that’s why when I hit the app icon, and you pop up, I always jump and become a tickled toddler, surprised a picture is moving before my eyes.
As I watch your creative beauty unfold in the palm of my hand, I cry juicy tears. It’s happened multiple times.
There’s an addictive sweetness to your personality and to your talent and to your rhythm and to your voice. I swoon, heat pervading my chest, warming up my throat.
My hands overlap at the nape of my neck, tight as a black and blue butterfly just before flight.
I fear things that make me feel as good as you do…Oh, the glow of such a passionate soul.
Time will heal my fear, but until then, I’ll just keep writing here.
Heart pounding to your beat,
I feel it! Oh! What spunk!
What soul! I swallow your glow!
Inside warming the walls
down my throat, my gut
so empty (except acid burning
holes)…then, your glow tumbles
in my tummy like honey…
Sweet relief is your glow,
medicine I need to heal my holes.
Hopelessly Inappropriate Thoughts 