Ostentatiousness. (noun)

I’m lying on the couch,
fingers bored against the
pages of my inner thigh,
mind numb against endless
lengths of dead classics.

I’ll never say I love thee,
nor count the ways:

But baby,
if we did a little digital voodoo,
slammed a classic
against the hood of a car
and ****** the sentiment
from behind,
I’m sure,
quite sure,
I could be inspired enough
to count the ways
I want you.

I want you...

like a ***** on my knees
in a filthy alley,
with cheap red lipstick
staining my cheek and your pants.

When you’re ready,
my skirt’s hiked around my waist
my endless legs desperate around yours,
and you hold yourself away from my body,
by pinning my wrists to the wall,
connecting us only
so you don’t have

in the living room,
on the couch,
you at one end,
me at the other;

me watching you,
watching me,
watching you...

And we show each other
why we are each
the best damn *****
we’ve ever had:

Then immediately
make ourselves liars,
and ***** about the
rug-burn for days.

with the lights on,
every inch of skin
a revelation.

Covered in sweat
from holding back, and
the moments
the movements,
until it’s
agony to end,
agony to continue
against the soft feelings,
locked eyes,
and tender nothings
we’re whispering between
Your arms buckle and
my legs shake, and

lose our (willmindssouls),

lose our way.

Perhaps I...
Perhaps I’ll count the ways I ... .

But more likely I’ll just ask you to ****.
It’s all the same thing nowadays, the classics are dead.

It’s all the same thing.
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2 Responses May 15, 2012

I like that. At first I wasn't sure I was going to, but the ending really tied it together for me.

Well now I m turned on while sitting at my desk...what to do what to do?<br />
<br />
Thank you that is hot.

Please write more,I want to read more.

I am going to read them now,thank you