You can call me crazy...
You can call me crazy
Because I’ve definitely lost my mind
It’s not likely that you’ll catch me falling, though
Because I have a net, you know
But those silly little details are inconsequential thus
And I refuse to rhyme this line
But the second one touched upon itself
Shelved and decayed
Posturized, pasteurized,
Extemporaneouslyilized... should be a word.
Because extemporaneous wasn’t quite the thrill
I’d kill for an extra vowel or two
Shoved in between the mattresses
Flattened into a tortilla of sexual confusion,
Mattressed hair and matted, batted eyelashes.
You have no idea what you do to my dopamine;
It floods the meme of lust and prey
Inevitably to decay into the foray
Of, what’s that, you say?
Yup– we’re already past hump day,
Hump hour, hump week, hump minute...
Hump year.
I want to feast on your essence because you turn me into a goddamn carnivore.
I’ll be your intellectual whore,
Use and abuse the corpus...
It’s here to adore us
As we dance so spritely in the night.
Can’t rhyme that line again
So I move on
Move forward
Smiling.
Thinking.
Wondering.
Oh, what if? Just what if... my nail was a little sharper?
What if... my breathe was slightly too hot?
What if... I was maybe a little too close.
What if... you were screaming out for me to touch you.
What if... I could hear your thoughts?
Would you blush or would you rip off my clothes?
Would you satiate the intensity
Or would you back off and force my hand?
Either way I’m going to enjoy this trip,
this fantasy.
I might never know your name;
I might never know the clever guard you stand proud.
But I might get a piece of you nobody else ever has.
And what do you think of that, Ms.?
Christopher Loflin
December 23, 2013
No title.
