There’s a phantom in my head
A lover beckoning to bed
I arch and squirm
No better than a worm
I wiggle
And giggle
Tantalizing at every turn
Twisted sheets
Imagined treats
Delight upon my skin
Digging deep within
He calls when I’m asleep
Wicked, wicked thief
Stealing thoughts, stealing hearts
I'm burning, frantic inside
Basking in this crazy ride
He never misses a beat
He’s got me falling at his feet.
You'll never be at my feet,
ReplyDeleteI would raise you higher,
Past my ankles,
Past my knees,
Past my...
Actually that's far enough.
---
I'm experimenting with non-rhyming poetry. It's the image I'm going for...
Oh my God.
ReplyDeleteYou're terrible. Absolutely incorrigible, lol.
"Actually that's far enough."
You wish.
;p
Morning, poets. Nothing wrong with being at a ladies feet - it whets the appetite for the ascending banquet to come.
ReplyDelete...lady's feet, damn it! Ya, I'm awake.
ReplyDelete