Oh with what a talented tongue I have, leaving men betwixt,
To let them smolder, left in splendor, words light as whipped cream.
The body of a woman, the power to bewitch,
Oh what a show, I display with my lips,
Catch them at "hello", a glance, or flick of my wrists.
To leave a man breathless, without even a kiss.
And I tease with my eyes and wonder if they've ever felt such bliss.
From the pads of my fingertips to the tip of my tongue,
I am all talk you see.
I am nothing but an innocent child,
inexperienced, tight, unexplored.
The man with no faceThe man with no face2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
If you ever hear me reference "the man with no face",
Don't feel as if you are left in the dark.
He is tall, slender, with strength, with an illuminating spark,
In his eyes I see passion, sparking like stars, but not features within a man, that would leave him named or marked.
He is older, to some extent,
He is cunning, in some ways.
Loves music, life, and lust,
A sly expression on his face,
He never waits for dusk to strike; ever changing he may be,
His intentions stay the same,
Be it in my fantasies and lucid dreams,
An ever-present flame,
The man with no face is many men,
But still always the same,
At the back of my mind, behind closed doors,
Never knowing from where he came.