Death

Death is a girl who lies naked & happy on my blanketed sofa.
Smiling thighs protrude like spies below the edges of her delicacy.
I worship her.
A Crimson throw cushions her flesh of youth & protects her joyful modesty from longing & my gaze.
Wrapped up in fun, she waits patiently as I write for her this gentle, little ode.

She promises me a kiss.
A slow tender, succulent intoxication of lust.
I desire her.
& I will caress her hair soon in moments of fond seduction.
Smooth warm shoulders watch my steady hand type.
I can see from here
Her undressed super sternum notch & the gentle descent of where Iā€™d like to be.

Immaculate & pretty
Her face warms my sordid imagination.
I can see love in her eyes.
Sparkling pools of dreams.
I thirst for her kiss.
Her blood red finger nails await my pleasure.
Torn flesh will cry.
Her marbled curves of delight will sigh in soft abatement.
& I will fall.

She wakes me up from dreaming here.
She smiles.
She says I should finish & come sit beside her & join her far beneath the blanket surrounding her.
I am captivated.
Foolish.
& in love.

I can sit with her in paradise.
Slow kisses & perfect dreams.
For hours we will gaze upon the beauty of what we represent.
& with that, I bid you farewell.
My siren beckons
& I am hers.

~ The girl on my couch.
Ā© ed simkins

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6 thoughts on “Death

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