deepundergroundpoetry.com
Rock Bottom Fantasy
He packed his case and bought his ticket
as I circle my life in his red pen.
Our noses and eyes and hips touching on the platform.
Those green eyes against the clean, white shirt I ironed that morning.
He dabs a raindrop from my cheek and there, with that electric touch
I am undressing him. His clean white, ironed shirt is on the dusty cement.
My unpainted claws digging into his shoulder-blade, causing him to warningly bite my bottom lip.
My bottom lip trails love-infected kisses from his ear to his breastbone, without fear.
"Don't go." I want to whisper as he picks me up at the waist and slams me against the train.
My hair is pulled from it's brunette ponytail.
Shake it out and let me breathe our alternative reality.
"Cunt." He hisses with lust, guilt and the love-infected thrusts - not kisses.
Fucked.
God, I know I'm writing smut, I know, why do I love it so much?
You unlock the wicked side of me.
Sink into me, so I may clamp my thighs and lock you there, keep you there, pump against you there like another part of the machinery that makes the train.
We'll be'cum' it forever.
I'm weak and I'm calm and I'm erratic and I'm breathless.
Work, work me... and responsibilities? After a long weekend of teenage antics...just stay and play?
What's so wrong with that?
I shake the feeling, and actually look at the situation.
We only kissed on the cheek at the station
and we only talk now and again.
My sister's staying at mums
while she gives birth to your child
and even though you are my sister's fiance
that was the best fantasy of my life.
Sick huh?
Just get me a bloody double, I think I've hit rock bottom.
"Serious fucking issues."
My head's resting on the wheel
outside the station.
The train has gone,
he has gone,
I'm still shaking.
I'm still aching.
"Some serious fucking issues..."
as I circle my life in his red pen.
Our noses and eyes and hips touching on the platform.
Those green eyes against the clean, white shirt I ironed that morning.
He dabs a raindrop from my cheek and there, with that electric touch
I am undressing him. His clean white, ironed shirt is on the dusty cement.
My unpainted claws digging into his shoulder-blade, causing him to warningly bite my bottom lip.
My bottom lip trails love-infected kisses from his ear to his breastbone, without fear.
"Don't go." I want to whisper as he picks me up at the waist and slams me against the train.
My hair is pulled from it's brunette ponytail.
Shake it out and let me breathe our alternative reality.
"Cunt." He hisses with lust, guilt and the love-infected thrusts - not kisses.
Fucked.
God, I know I'm writing smut, I know, why do I love it so much?
You unlock the wicked side of me.
Sink into me, so I may clamp my thighs and lock you there, keep you there, pump against you there like another part of the machinery that makes the train.
We'll be'cum' it forever.
I'm weak and I'm calm and I'm erratic and I'm breathless.
Work, work me... and responsibilities? After a long weekend of teenage antics...just stay and play?
What's so wrong with that?
I shake the feeling, and actually look at the situation.
We only kissed on the cheek at the station
and we only talk now and again.
My sister's staying at mums
while she gives birth to your child
and even though you are my sister's fiance
that was the best fantasy of my life.
Sick huh?
Just get me a bloody double, I think I've hit rock bottom.
"Serious fucking issues."
My head's resting on the wheel
outside the station.
The train has gone,
he has gone,
I'm still shaking.
I'm still aching.
"Some serious fucking issues..."
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