Self-Reverence

Erotic Poetry

When I’m alone (like youandmeandjustme alone and not really alone alone)

My hands want my hips (fingers curling, nails trying not to break silver moonly skin)

My hands want (with desperation that pleads through my pores, that pleads from deep muscular machinations that fly my hand to my tenderness)

Their soft round (like the curve of your heart, like the curve of your cheek resting on the crest of my skull)

Their gentle flare (like I am spilling beyond my lines for you, and my body has to show you somehow)

Their slow figure 8s (the torturous tortion of ocean-swelled desire as the glow in the night sky bounces off of the sea salt crytals embedded in my you-licked skin)

That weave infinity into my waves and undulations (my waves and your moonpulling splendour rolling about the stars in my eyes)

But we both know that my reverence (and the way I whisper my fingers across my gleaming boneframe)

Is really (profoundly and without doubt)

Yours (Ours)

~~~

👽❤

~~~

*** So basically you masturbated like you were two people… and wrote about it…. ***

*** Sure… if you say so…. **