Swoon, Baby, Starry Night

I'd been waking up for quite some time, workers breaking pavement outside, and it is all I can do to stare at the ceiling and not to look at you. This is the time I realize that I am just the smoke in your hair and that I will die drowning in the hazelest of seas, and, in lieu of doing something that will make money, I lay there and lazily lick the salt out of your past failed lives, toast your face, and make play like nothing will ever change; and that I will always know where to find you. Oh, Momma, why so forlorn? Didn't you just get just exactly what you moaned for? Me, speaking for you, and, no, I don't know why I have these little knots in my heart, but I have my suspicions, and I love how nothing can keep your adventurous cock out of the Vesuvian pussy, not even when there's a possibility that it could turn you into a Pompeii person. So, tell me truly, how can you safely say that you don't know that you are my last supper? I am so afraid that you have not considered sadly the ramifications of making me love you so bad. I know that you don't trust yourself but you should trust in this, and I know, Baby, I know: it takes a long time just to get it all straight. The man in you wants the woman in me to grab you up and demand things of you but the exhibitionist in me just wants the voyeur in you to

look casual
but
listen careful

as I get off for you again, again.


yours always,

Queen King of Kink

ps. do a tanka