“Down upon my tongue I feel your skin sigh. A touch of sensual, luxury, and statisfy.”

I want to have my best days with you.

There won’t be anyone else. I can tell you that right now. Your eyes show me that you don’t believe that just yet. Even if it takes me months or years. I’ll make you believe it so.

Theres a lover in you somewhere.

You have hues of love on your skin.

I hope when she touches you it burns holes into your skin and leaves scars where my lips would have been.

I’ll let you grab my hips any day of the week, if only you promise to pull me close and whisper that I’m the best view you’ve ever seen.

I spoke to myself in lyrics and sugar coated words. A melody of lies and symphonies to soften the blow of how i really felt. I licked at the tender taste and fell into a cacophony within my skin. Would this ever end? This denial of feelings?

My unrestrained words fall right onto your tongue, whilst you hover above me, restraining my hands to the headboard.

Never mind your restless heart.

Devour me and let me feel your every move.

Your name in lights illuminates my skin.

The night used to spill down onto my skin. Now it just swallows me whole.

I adore being between you and these sheets.

Do you miss him, or do you miss the person you were pretending to be when you were with him?

I’ve gotten a lot of things wrong in my life, a lot of missteps I’ve taken in strife; but one thing I’m certain i’ve always gotten right, is the feel of your lips so soft and so light.

Your eyes call me home, they beckon me from the sea.

Compassion is not religious business, it is human business, it is not luxury, it is essential for our own peace and mental stability, it is essential for human survival.

The saddest thing I can imagine is to get used to luxury.

Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them, humanity cannot survive.

For women, then, poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence.

Let us have the luxury of silence.

I try to treat all the money I’m making like it’s the last time I’m going to make it.

Life is too short, or too long, for me to allow myself the luxury of living it so badly.

Guilt is a luxury that we can no longer afford.