Oh. Fantasy!
Render me speechless with your kisses,
I’ll close my eyes—go ahead.
Trace your fingers across my belly
so that I take your hands—as if to stop them
—and kiss them as punishment.
You feel so good.
Who are you, and more importantly,
why are you in my head?
Why can’t you be in my bed?
It would be funner if you were.
But now, vivid doesn’t cut it.
Instead of you touching me, I’m touching myself.
Instead of kissing you, I’m kissing my pillow,
I’m taking out my dildo—and, this has got to stop,
break reality—please, for me,
like an actor talking to the fourth wall.
Step out of the set, walk down the hall,
out the studio gates of this movie-like fantasy.
Just promise me one thing—
Let me be the Bogie to your Bacall.
—
May 16, 2025, at 7:11 a.m. // @morningpoems_Credits
The MorningPoems Podcast is spoken, written & produced by yours truly. You can follow me—or not follow me—on Instagram, but I don’t want them having your attention. I just want you, my darlings.
Regrettably, this was posted on my Astrology/Jungian coaching account 🙄
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