Your words
Make my skin burn.
I flush from your
(attention),
Especially when you
(mention)
What you want to do with me.
You pretend
To transcend
The average, the mundane, the basic
But you’re just
A bust
Of an old president
With many monikers and Monicas,
And I am just
Another shelf
On which your head sometimes lies.
I thought I’d forget The night that we met, But your eyes Burned my thighs, And your name makes me sweat. I thought I had a choice, But...
Live Performances I feel like my Grammy Jane as I type this, but I’m going to write it anyway … Nobody knows how to behave anymore. In...
With my eyes I fantasize What it’s like to know your body. My pupils play the part of pupil — A student of your movement. They blink and...
Comentarios