NO, honey

My favorite part of the evening
was the drive.

a cool, gush of stuff -
a swindling of the road, the rocks, and the rough all in a long piece of memory, too long. too elastic.

my tits, oh No honey, you're pretty, but they are what they are, i say touche.

not one for words.
just the sting of a kiss greed wants you to miss.
and i'm there, trying to reinstate my self joy, self providence but all i can think of is sex.

i wont tell you im too poetic for sex. its just as poetic as the bite marks on your neck, the train of kisses beneath your belly button, the muscle jumps, the bliss. Im not too proud to talk about sex, and how twice against my poster, I . I. oh nevermined, you were there.

and now im here, cloudy in there.
now im tired, but writhing with writhe!
and im not too poetic for sex, but no words come.