Her body is my typewriter

You need to understand why I love words

You need to understand

Words are to me what a beautiful lady is to you

You see brown eyes. But, you don’t see how they

Melt into a dark caramel shade, or how they flame up with the sun
You see a busty woman. But, you don’t see the wondrous words that whimsically wormed their way into a wonder-bra like her D-cup breasts

You just see her cleavage

An illusion that draws your center of attention

You see letters. Jagged lines and shapes that draw blood from your fingertips. But, you don’t comprehend how smooth they can be rolling off your tongue and through your lips as they brush against her vanilla skin

You think circumlocution is ugly

Words are too big

You’d

Prefer

A

Size

Zero

Narrow

Waist

Ribcage

Empty

Lines

In a notebook

You don’t know that words are an aphrodisiac. You can’t appreciate what I have.

My words caress her ear. Like a lit fuse that travels inside her. They burn and freeze her at the same time. They are part of the controlled chaos that makes her

Bite her lip

And

Writhe

What you don’t know is that all I need is one word

Her

4 comments

  1. That’s better than a cup of coffee for this morning.

    Slow clap!

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