I can only imagine how it feelsbeing so single-minded with no prevail as pride dries on your chest like a sick day's Vicks™ as you eat bitterly sweet butterscotch cough drops that'll melt after a few sucks like a man, relieving himself on the tongue of his partner with only a few patterns of euphoric movement. Still, I cannot wrap my head around how you would want to deny such pleasure but at Moon's rise, I find you at my door with nothing but your true plead under the flicker of the white neon light. It's cute, seeing you look at me so long with nothing but your regret which I poke at with my teases like these piercings do to my skin with another young storm's needleI want you to beg and you do, grabbing on my loose clothing to stop me from walking back in my Bokuto-filled bed with eyes that're of the dead's but asking of so much life, almost as if I was God but oh baby! Don't you know that someone as flawed as me cannot save you? But like again, it wouldn't hurt to explore your surface and interior with my prying eyes, and hands until you're raw, exposed to me with no escape but the oxygen that'll burn your lungs as you feel your rebirth; your revelation but don't you worry, I'll make it worth it which is evident to you as you sit on my bed, feeling the cold air of my room slap your body on a new week's Tuesday, feeling my eyes drill your soul with no remorse as I dab my brush in the reds of my paint plate to highlight the indoor LED lights of my room as if I'm an ancient method follower, but modern nude artist: "Smile, just a little", I direct with a short smile on my grin, finally seeing some emotion on your face. Jeez', for someone who's so talented, you're horrible at living the life of someone your age but maybe if you were in your mid-thirties, having a crisis, you would be perfectly ideal but I won't judge you anymorejust keep lifting your chin, move your knees more apart from each other so I can capture your erotic grace, my Venus: "Good, just like that", I say as I begin to focus my work which is becoming hard when I'm fixated on glancing at you, seeing the clear neutrality in how shameful you feel in front of me. I wonder more on the estimate of how many times you've given your photography-major roommate a glimpse, or a show of your cloying body. If I was him, I would've gnawed at your skin but it looks like he's done that with my fast sight of the teeth-marks between your thighs. But of course, I'm sure he hasn't made your body touch anything like Frida's elevation when she looked at herself into those fruity series of her well-known portraits, or even a believer's high vibration that runs through their spine as their healed tears run down their cheeks, gasping for air with prayers slipping between their teeth at rapid speed in the name of the Lord. In conclusion, it's a burning sensation that'll make you embed your figure into my bed after night's stay, not even thinking of leaving ever so quietly with your shoes in your handNo one has because they're too tired with their heavy legs from being molded into my works of such Vegas-bred, and I wouldn't make you an exception' princess. I'm what you call a slut, a person who's lips savors the journey of each one's roads like the uniquely carved vinyls, begging to be played by hundreds to thousands of different families in such a disgustingly modest way as they're sleeved in covers of people who're bound to be dead, just like you and I so that's why I encourage you to talk, let me mark your skin with leather burns as you do with mine; I'm fine with either, my new project. I'll keep this polite facade for a bit longer, if only that means to make your walls crumble upon my abs as I kiss your merry tears of intimacy.