Did that really just happen?


  
A long time ago. 

You stopped my world. 

In a crowded room, there was only you,

And I.

And we both knew it.

At least I fantasize that you knew too.

Life was life.

I had a boyfriend and told you he might answer the phone, but I still gave you my number, because I knew it was you.

Not sure what would have happened if you called, but I’ve always wondered what life would have been.  

I’ll forgive you because of tonight.

We are meant to be together. 

I knew it then.

I’ve never forgotten it.

Never forgotten you.

Then tonight.

Did that really happen?

Are you real?

Your face,

Your voice,

Your everything,

The touch of your skin,

The taste of your lips,

Your mouth on my breast,

Feeling you?

Drinking you?

Was that real?

It can’t be.

People don’t make out with strangers.

People don’t mysteriously connect on the side of the road, after a brief meeting which might have been a dream 12 or 13 years ago.

People don’t have soul mates, or soul-friends-with-benefits, or soul strangers.

There’s no such thing as meant to be.

But I’ll tell you this,

That?

Tonight? 

Was…

Beyond description.

The memory 

Will never leave me.

It’s magic.

Just like those few minutes so many years ago.

Whether that was the same you,

Or merely the you of that moment.

Whether then or tonight really even happened,

Or they were drug induced dreams.

You, are the one I’ve been hoping to find.

Thank you for being real.

Or not…

To you.




I know you’ve been watching me.

I can feel the lust of your eyes.

You want me to expose all of myself to you. 

Every dirty little secret.

For me to relive every moment of intense pleasure. 

To tingle again from each painful lash.

To open myself completely to you. 

To be yours.

You want to know me.

What things tickle,

What things hurt. 

What things excite and stimulate me in ways beyond comprehension.

You follow my every movement as I show myself to you.

The thought of you watching me is exhillerating.

I want to be viewed by you;

Be consumed by the heat of your gaze.

Watch me, follow me, use me.

I am yours.



Thanks for reading me.

Go to dyingwithstyle.org to really get to know me.

Dreaming


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You raped me.

You held me down and tore my clothes and

Saved me.

You brought me to the edge of death and

Changed me.

My life before right now was all a dream.

I want you.

The kind of want that hurts so much,

Consuming.

I hunger for your painful touch.

It scares me.

But it’s okay, I can pretend that it is all a dream.

Don’t wake me.

I can change it, make it nice.

Tenderize.

Savory with just a hint of spice.

Join me.

We’ll dine on lust and love like a good dream.

Freeing.

The soft caress on longing skin.

Was magic.

But there’s no need to start again.

It’s over.

You played a special part of someone’s dream.

Move on now.

It’s time for you to run along.

Don’t be sad.

There is an end to every song.

It was nice.

The fading memory of a whirlwind dream.

dickhead: Trifecta


Alright, I might not have been the first one to go here, because I haven’t actually read very many of the others, but this week’s Trifecta:

What should I do…hmmm…poetry? Okay, I like to keep things short. No pun intended.

Penis Poem

You learn it when you are just a teen

The brain in boys is most often between

Their legs, of course, you know that it’s true.

Without its control, we wouldn’t have you.