Friday, September 11, 2009


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.


  1. You'll never be at my feet,
    I 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...

  2. Oh my God.

    You're terrible. Absolutely incorrigible, lol.

    "Actually that's far enough."

    You wish.


  3. Morning, poets. Nothing wrong with being at a ladies feet - it whets the appetite for the ascending banquet to come.

  4. ...lady's feet, damn it! Ya, I'm awake.