Words stream out of my minds mouth at breakneck speed.
Fantasies of unknown play at night of my mental reel to reel.
I’ve handwritten thoughts and fictions of many sorts.
I’ve been on my back in bed many a sleepless night.
I’ve sated myself, sated another, finally gone.
Now I delay and find pleasure in ache.
I’ve stood on my toes and arched my back with arms extended to firm during moments of restlessness.
I listen to music to move like the creature of touch I am.
I’ve stretched out on my side and felt the weight of my breasts shift against my camisole.
So why do all I want now is a man to whom I can talk to dirtylike. Lovesome submission desired, yet shy of. For whom do I cultivate my body, face, and mind? Aside from for my own pleasure, of course.