discarded notes: 6

there’s nothing sexier
than the honesty you bring
to the table as to what you can give me
and what you cannot, or where
the boundaries between us lie
so nothing we do is an afterthought.
for what we have is the raw deal.
although complicated,
what we have is real.

discarded notes: 4

you’re my perfect distraction,
my lip-biting, breathtaking, midday attraction
taking me away from every responsibility,
at least, for just a time until you say my name
and ask me, ever so softly in that baritone voice of yours,
did you like that, baby?
do you want more?

discarded notes: 2

to write my poems
means going on a journey
that’s mine and mine alone
even if it’s just for that moment
when i put pen to paper,
my feelings raw
and my heart cut open
only because it’s easier
to bleed on the page
than it is to say the words
i really want to say
to you.

discarded notes: 1

you have made the secret stirrings inside me come alive,
my body humming with a vibration that yearns
to match yours and yours alone.

a sound, a feeling, a craving that bears your name,
even the rhythm of your heartbeat
to match my own.