The city is full of a population guarded against one another.  While I was making out with him last night, I was wondering where he was.  Because his hands were all over me, but his soul was out, somewhere, buried deep inside shadows of hurtful past experiences and roads less traveled.

You stand before me naked….the least you can be… free.

This city is full of people fucking without making love.  Because Love is out of trend, it’s not cool to be someone who feels.  What the fuck is wrong with people?

Nothing is better than experiencing someone’s body and looking them in the eyes.  Knowing they are allowing you in, even if it’s just for a brief instant.  Intimacy is the secret to awesome sexual prouesses, not the motion of your hips or how fast you can pump me like the cheapest gaz station.

Taking your time, to feel the touch of your fingers on my skin, the taste of yout mouth on mine.

Maybe even to laugh together.

You don’t even have to be mine ever again, no promises made but the one’s of letting your guards down to let pleasure waltz on the valleys of our bodies.

I’m tired of mindless intimacy.

Guarding ourselves, will leave the negative out, of course it will, but those walls will also stray the good ones out as well.

Forever dry in this desertic life.

Next time, bring some water, you will need it, tiring yourself away, pretending you are in some kind of one man show of Cirque du Soleil.

I’ll watch from the bench, no use of putting my soul out to an empty audience.

When you fuck a ghost shell, you lose yourself a little more everytime.  You start to think that it is the way it is suppose to be.

Following trends, even when the sheets are on a bogo sale.

Secretly lost in the cage of your burried heart.

Dig deeper, you might be better.







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