One Night. 2015.

I’m not asking for much,
just the feel of skin on mine.
I don’t want your heart,
Hell, I won’t ask for a last name.
Give me fingers brushing along my spine,
Tangling in my hair as your lips caress the
most sensitive part of me.
Give me arms around my waist,
crushing my breasts into your chest as
we ride wave after wave.

I’m not asking for much
just the feel of your skin on mine.
I don’t need your heart,
Just a name to scream into the darkness.
Make me feel like I’m more than a fuck,
even when that is all I want to be,
all I can be for you.
Make me forget that I’m alone
that tomorrow my bed will be cold
when I wake up to empty sheets.



online, 2015.

Imagination is 

Where she is nothing but a thought 
To which you can close your eyes and caress your most beautiful visions of her.
An avoidance of looking into her soul,
Bared in the depth of the oceanic irises that fill with lust at a single word.
A place to hide from your demons,
The qualities you deeply despise of yourself
You can be anyone behind your fingers.
Because when Late night came, so did she
A meeting filled with a desperation for normalcy 
But plagued by a bittersweet reality.
In front of you she kneeled to rid you of your worry —
But she could not measure to fiction 
Even when her lips parted intimately.
You can only repay her with stories,
Years of your life for five minutes of hers.
She is full of you but somehow still empty.
All the promises made will never be kept
For you can not look beyond the flaws outside her.
She is not what you expected, it seems.
Her quiet laughter put you at ease,
You both remain opposite and alone until
It is almost morning when she gets up to leave.
When she returns home
She wishes you never really existed and perhaps were simply a bad dream. 
You will find a new imagination.