Whenever I look at you my thoughts are full of sensual poetry. But would I write about my feelings for you, my pen would begin to glow and my paper would immediately catch fire.
Sometimes I write Because I don’t know what I’m feeling deep inside, or because I feel too many different feelings at the same time. And if I read it then it may make sense and will help me understand, what’s going on in my heart and head.
She is someone who falls in love with imperfections. Like the moon with all her craters, hearts with cracks, and souls with scars. For she knows they carry the deepest and truest love of all deep inside.
She plucked a feather from her magnificent wings and dipped it in ink. She wrote poems bled from her scars guided straight from the depths of her heart.
I knew it was real love the moment I could bare myself to you naked (without taking my clothes off) and I could show you all my scars (the ones that are invisible to the naked eye) and you loved me even more.
Write your lustful words with the invisible ink of your tongue upon every part of my body, until my mouth begins to moan every single letter in poetry.
