letters to a boy-face.

Dear D,
I am letting you know…
I hope you loved the kiss today.
Slow, soft, hard, fast.
Biting and sucking on your soured soul barely reaching for a breath.
I hope you fucking loved it.
It was the last one.

PS: Your eyes were open. I caught you and I hate you for it.

Stop kissing me.
I don’t appreciate the way it makes me feel.
I wiggle like jelly and get all soft in the knees.
When you kiss me I want to do other things besides just kiss you.
And I am not that girl anymore.

Sweat soaked sheets, the smell of animalistic, feverish love making.
Can I call it that? Love Making.
Fine then I won’t. Fucking.
I fuck you. You fuck me.


July 10, 2007. dating, love, men.

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