With my might
I would seek to pull you a little close, but don’t worry, I’d caress you softly!
If anything I must compare you to a fine and curvy guitar.
I, the master guitar player.
My strums would be gentle but aggressive at the same time!
My progressions are gentle at first but this is until a gust of rhythm enters into my veins.
My French cuff shirt is designed to layer our fastened direction of rebellion.
Out of this world. I got to talk to you again.
Hear your melody again and bidding the time with motion!
The tune is singing within me and you’re the sound eye seek.
I woke up with your right hand in my hair while my fingers rested on your river brook thighs.
A sound so beautiful that my fingers, beg to strum the tingling of your twitches.
Posted in: Poems, Prose, and Songs