Member-only story
My Love, What Would I Do Without You?
A Poem
I exist, dear Asha, somewhere in the timber of your heart, some place as hot as the club we went to that time before one of us took the other home.
I’d spit in the face of the mayor if they told me I had to live without you, my love, I mean I wouldn’t take it under advisement or recognize their authority.
On what exact grounds would they have the power to pull me by my beard like that (it’s OK when you do it but that’s in a different context).
So, undress in front of me so I can be thus tantalized, sweetheart, and I’ll even turn off the mainstream media and their attempt to dumb it all down.
I’d like to be considered a trustee of your soul, every inch of that body pressed against my lips, you smelling so delicious I can barely stand it.
I’m not your regular fare, I know, and I’m no movie star in the looks department, but I try really hard when it’s you and me one on one behind closed doors.
Take it easy you say to me but there’s nothing more I’d like than an exemption from that idiom — I want to worship you even though it hurts, and there’s nothing worthwhile that’s easy.
I want to be bad, so bad I’m good, spend special nights with you and every other night too.
