I want my man like I want
my books: warm to touch,
smooth on the inside but
rough along the edges,
leather-bound with a hard
back, filled with sordid
stories to tell.


He tells me he’s not a writer as he
explains his struggle to find the
right words to express his love for
me. Behind his every cliché line and
overused metaphors, I know there is
something so precious between us
that language itself can’t name.
So I treasure every word he gives
me like they are pieces of himself,
because goddamit, at least he tries.

  • For Day 15: Endeavors, #ourpoetryjourneydec17

Why do we always long for
the things that would lead us
to complete destruction?
The way I am craving for you.
My skin misses the messy scrawl
of your touch. My muscles ache
with need. I want to feel you in
the mornings and taste you in
the night, my soul years for
yours. I am craving for you.

Day 24, #naughtynovembernoir, hosted by @elle12368, @bluelotus.kamikazeheart, @__got2haveit, @wild.cherry69xo and moi