My Girl

I want a girl who can fuck me—with words.
That employs her talented tongue to massage my—mind
In wondrous ways, making worries wander astray
Relinquishing carnal cravings and crude desires.
Quite literally, the epitome of oral pleasure.

I want a woman with emotional depth,
Who can speak her mind while lips stand still.
Our conversations would delve deeper than the darkest abyss
Simply by staring through the gates of the other’s soul.

I long for someone to lay in bed with
Where those heavy horizontal discussions are had.
Facilitated by flickering candle light, on dark nights,
Under cozy covers warmed by intimately close bodies.

Someone with whom I can discuss significant inner truths.
Those ephemeral fruitions from ineffable emotions,
Brought forth from oblivion buy that feeling of knowing:
That you are hers and she is yours,
And she is you and you are finally whole.

The thoughts too true to admit to yourself.
Whose solemnity empower a ghastly goliath
Too vast for your solitary David to conquer.

Yet in her arms you become invincible.
An army of two against the darkness in you.
Her words are the slaying stones arming David’s sling,
And her depth, the drowning damnation of your demons.

I want a girl that’s intellectually sexual.
Not sexually intellectual, or erotically exceptional,
But intelligent and caring, compassionate and sharing,
A person with whom the real me can grow.


One thought on “My Girl

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