I like to pretend that you know…
How I think of you during the days and nights to help me pass the time.
I imagine that you would enjoy hugging me from behind. That you would wrap your long arms around my torso and breathe my scent slowly. Your heavy breath, O so showy.
As if you have before; with in a place in time not yet exposed. My imagination relentlessly finds her way to impose.
Your lips and the way you talk to me is of a foreign sweetness. Exotic honesties of your intention leave my mind during the day but they return in strength in the evenings.
How can I continue to entertain these unwarranted thoughts and taunts?
It is not necessary for me to have any more desires. Is my mind or my heart’s emptiness all that toying requires?