your image, created

i hold a hundred versions of you as images in my mind.

the girl who makes me tea at stupid o’clock and brings it to me in bed.

the girl who cries at the end of every movie.

the girl who laughs when i spank her bottom.

the girl who will only speak French when she’s cross with me.

the girl who wears her underwear inside out, when she’s in need of luck.

the girl who flirts with my father.

the girl who will open her own doors, her own jars, but lets me open her mail.

the girl who can melt me with one look.

the girl who make the word ‘fuck’ mean a hundred different things.

the girl who can fall asleep mid-sentence.

the girl who fucks me. really fucks me.

the girl who likes wine on a Sunday morning.

the girl who smiles when she’s asleep.

the girl who is an awful, and i mean truly awful, driver. (i’m actually scared to get in the car with her sometimes).

the girl who eats more pancakes than even me.

the girl who sometimes just likes to watch, and sometimes just likes to be watched.

the girl who likes to make up stories in intricate detail, about how her life will be when she’s 90.

the girl who laughs when i am mad at her.

the girl who wants me to come first.

the girl who giggles in the rain.

the girl who literally stops to smell the roses.

the girl who will not just make, but create love with me all night.

the woman who makes me want to create it with her.

just one thing

i imagine your touch, when her fingers caress my skin.

i imagine your mouth, when her lips are on mine.

i imagine your sigh, when i taste her velvet rush.

but i don’t think of you when she sucks me, because when it comes to giving head, she’s the best in the business.


P.S. in case you were wondering, i like fucking both of you, equally.


part of me wants to give you what you deserve. to love you as your soul mate, and cherish your heart with everything i have.

part of me wants to give you what you want. to fuck your ass like a porn star, and treat you like any other one of my whores.

tell me my poor, conflicted child. what should be our compromise?


i recite the bible, and dirty poetry, as you suck my cock in the car park

my words fuck your ears, and your conscience fucks your mind

, my seed fills your mouth
, His guilt fills your eyes, with tears
and yet
you’ve never felt more real