Member-only story
You’re My Heaven in Silk
I just want to touch you
You’re My Heaven in Silk
I make many attempts to modernize my love, dear Asha, spend countless hours in my workshop tinkering with ways to really impress you.
Here’s one example: I greet you at the door and then restrain you and then please you with my sudden growth.
I know I drive a van and that isn’t sexy, but I do have the habit of getting in bed with you anyway and anything offensive I might say you simply ignore.
Do you know how much I appreciate you? That’s my sales pitch — my adoration and devotion.
One day I hope to own a yard but right now I can’t afford the expenditure.
I’ll have to just settle for the clothes you wear as decoration in bed.
I don’t care that the shelf fell down the last time we met, but the poor neighbors had to plug their ears I bet.
If I could only determine a way to keep myself in your heart so you won’t drop me like a weight when you decide to move on.
Let me disclose to you one thing: I like to patrol your neighborhood and watch for other boys trying to eat your cake.
I’m a veteran but a pleasant one, in an age well after disco died.
You see, you’re my outlet, and a flexible one at that.
You’re a very musical being so when I slam my body into yours, sheets of paper fall from your desk.
You don’t bother with a curtain — you’re not ashamed of our union, that’s how brave you are and how high you send me.
We manage to produce nothing but sweet sex and I don’t care if anyone else will approve.
We break pottery in search of the sacred feminine and then you say I’m too talkative.
It’s possible that I’m not that smart, but I fear dismissal, so don’t send me away to sit by the fountain all alone.
I’m not lazy and we’re not rich, nor am I a player.
I do wish I could compose you a song, something about how a wolf falls in love with a sheep.
It feels like we’ve been at it for more than a decade, even in the muggiest time of the year.
It’s easy to turn lust into love, just watch.
I’ll write an essay and tell you how.
