she is 18
so I am not allowed to look?
if I didn't look I wouldn't write
the female form is so much more to me than a sex object
sex and objection make for poor bed fellows
anal wankers judging my morality
age restricting musing is for cunts
18
and she has bloomed like a flower
an impossible flower
art is her legs
art is her ass
art is her eyes
art is her chest
art ankles and art toes
18
and she is nobody's
she will break the boys
she will equal the men
she lies just over there where the grass stains her flesh
just over there
close enough to smell her sweet perfume
her promise
her potential
a life of surprises and heartbreak awaits those who touch her
just over there
a precious stone in a common park
a part time angel in a pretty dress
18
and I already love her
just a few lines in
my stains will never lift
she passed through my mind just
inside the sleep
the bit before dreams take over
and fuck you up
place food on her flesh and hope your heart can take it
look but don't touch
she is in the shop window of the impossible
and she is...
18
I only want her so I can muse her
sex for me was going down on her
on them
all of them
my climax never an issue
it was all about them
never about me
the taste of cunt
I am a passive man with an aggressive pen
a broken soul with only art to look at
glances thrown but not understood
18
and made by an artist
but penned by a lady junkie...
me
man can only find his truth when he finds the need not to spill
metaphorical orgasms come without the anticlimax
or the guilt
18
and I love her
but only for existing
in this dull world I so hate.
© Written by Tim Roberts September 2011 ©
