i write poetry (for an imaginary lover)
i write poems for an imaginary lover:
they slip and slide through the lube in my mind
hot and wanting, wet with longing
they smolder and suck, feel and fuck, lust for, lick, and look,
they play with words like they do body parts: penis,
pussy, tummy, ass, tongues, tits, and other bits
i write poetry for an imaginary lover:
he comes to me morning, noon, and night, ever ready
to fulfill my desires, and satisfy my needs
he never talks; he only listens, whispers and moans,
he knows my body, my breath, and my rhythms,
and gets turned on by making my fantasies reality
i write poetry for an imaginary lover:
it’s hot and steamy, raw and unseemly,
composed to the beat of a wild base drum
in it, we are flesh and blood, heat and passion,
we see, hear, touch, taste and smell sex as if
nothing else existed, and for a stanza or six, nothing else does.
