The time when dark desires danced dangerously between your......
Dark desires danced, not on paper but in the ache between your thighs the moment my metaphors kissed your mind.
You say you read me?
No, baby you feel me,
In the pauses between punctuation.
In the way I make commas curl like your toes and periods hit like pulses.
I don’t write stories I brand you with them.
Ink becomes instinct,
Letters become licks,
Paragraphs?
Panties, peeled off slowly by thought.
My language doesn’t ask permission it presses you against the page,
spreads your attention,
and makes your mind beg while your body follows.
You call it literature
I call it linguistic lingerie- tight, teasing, made to be undone
by teeth, time, and tension.
And when my words finally slip in- deep, deliberate, divine you don’t just surrender...
You squirm.
You soak.
You scream.
Silently.
Because it’s just reading, right?
What you say @ukgirl
