You Don’t Want To Admit

 

You don’t want to admit
That you possibly have some feels
The epic curve of your bosom
Heaving with a thought that I’ll steal

Your subtle plaid skirt laid out nicely
Legs tucked behind your shapely derriere
Forever might be nice if you accept
Together we meld into a love extraordinaire

Delayed Motion Of Her Hand

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Delayed motion of her hand
Lost in thought; unable to translate
The slippery notion of time
Within the energy of a tangible fate

Let us remain discrete in our words
She tries to focus as I obnoxiously flirt
Concentrating on writing proper forms
Caught her unaware as I reached up her skirt

Dreams Of Pretty Dancing Girls

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Dreams of pretty dancing girls
Tartan skirts & gold buckles on their shoes
Legs draped in such fine stockings
High kicks, but treasure out of view

The fantasy of a joyous party
Spirited music playing a bit loud
Fiddles & bagpipes; what a scene
You pulled me out of the dense crowd

Beauty of drinking black beer all day
My stature begins to slightly tilt
You quietly asked me for a light
But there’s no pockets in this kilt

Envisioning what the night might bring
Is it possible that you could be this real
Sharing a pint in a secluded corner
A second Guinness is considered a meal

Pink/Green In A Pastel Plaid

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Pink/green in a pastel plaid
Her skirt was a pleasant hue
A charming, interesting woman
Never seen eyes that color blue

Her legs were silky smooth
While the hem felt of terse wool
Her’s was a beauty uninterrupted
I knew I was soon to be a lovesick fool

Slow, deep kisses made me weak
Darkness; the grips of a tropical storm
My heart on the verge of falling, but
I needed more than that to keep me warm

I See Your Pretty Smile

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I see your pretty smile
Discovering it’s innocence disguised
This walk marked by confidence
Always keeping me surprised

A mischievous look upon your face
Nervous energy I can feel
Your skirt slightly flares
My lips part before you even kneel

My interest has already piqued
Amazed as you love me still faster
Truly a breathtaking moment
As you call me your lover & master

Excuse Me, Miss

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Excuse me, Miss
I need help between the books
You look down your glasses at me
Don’t worry about their errant looks
You’re dressed mighty nice
I think it’s by the back shelves
It seems I’ve gotten us lost
Oh my, I think we’re by ourselves
I pull you in close
A hand sneaks under your skirt to play
You moan aloud; onlookers’ smile
Apparently we’re still on display

 

Image by Eli Digital Creative from Pixabay