A prude is what I want, Sort of. A woman who is not absorbed in thoughts, Darkened by a need to climax and froth, Over orgasms that won’t last as long, As we can hold each other in the midst of a storm…
I want to be engorged by her love, And, Need to hear my voice whenever she’d slip into a pile of mud. If I were to be hardened by anything, It’d be a shield I put up, Protecting her from getting scuffed by her roughest days…
Sex is, Just a drug. A ruse we partake in for a moment of play until, It becomes foul. Too dirty to the point we’d have to wipe our slate clean, Blow a whistle so that others can take heed, And, Avoid a moment they’d regret until the day they’re deceased…
Getting high is not what I seek. I’m exhausted from relationships going up in smoke as soon as we slip out of sheets, More like white flags being waved as we lay dead underneath. Dead inside from a game no one would console me over, As a man no one cares for while I deal with pain only I can control by, Keeping my distance while staying sober from, Drunk love. Or, Should I say lust struck, In a mind with a promiscuous taste for life, In a nutshell…
m3l0dicverse 
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