What thoughts you stole from me, tearing them from the day and sneaking them into that constructed self, that person you designed in my dreams, that relinquished me you looked up and down and kissed, your skin worn like red at the funeral of my self control. I remember no details of your body, only of your frame and posture. Confident. Poised to strike. You sunk your lips deep into that dream and the intimidation stalks me when I'm awake while you walk by as though nothing has happened.
1 comments:
Where are you finding some of these? It's like an uncensored version of the far side...
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