Like film,
interpreted by Baudry
I dream extensions of my own
inflected fantasy.
Theoretically scopophilic.
Wondering what it could be like
without your Mercedes date
who you’re out of focus on
focused on me.

I feel your eyes.
I’ve felt them before
dripping over me
with the thick humidity
of a sauna.
Felt them stalk me,
smouldering my thighs
like cinders.
You are
burning in heat
me to notice
your fuck motions, innuendo’s, games.
But I’m not buying.
Not in the mood to purchase
what I can have for free.

I watch you wear your date
like diamonds
intoxicating yourself
on his gold plated AMEX
torching yourself
with a look to me
licking your lips
as if I were dessert:

Tempting, aren’t I?
Under your nose.
I like how you look
at me
desperately undressing me
hot and humid under my eyes
under my words,
and although I am a whore to my libido
a stud to my lust
controlling to fuck
to be fucked
or forget
are not my orgasm
and I don’t need you to get off.

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byCharleyH© 9 comments/ 6135 views/ 1 favorites

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