A pretty boy with a photogenic air
Sits contently in the photo booth
And I hate to say it,
But I long to kiss him
as the light flashes in that photo booth.
And yet I resist such a bitter, sweet temptation,
Knowing of the reputation
that comes along with him.
Sitting contently in the photo booth
Breaking hearts and remaining clueless
He doesn’t know how dangerous he is.
He just sits there, with a photogenic air.
Beauty and all.

Your affection decreases and ceases
With every breathy kiss, skin flakes away
no tears dare fall, sorrow only sparks your rage
a sullen, hollow corpse I lay for your pleasure
to spank and prod and pound away at
moans fly and flutter through the air
while legs soar upwards into the sky
fiery passion sets your eyes ablaze
while mine lay hollow and empty
hiding behind curtains of flesh
preventing our gazes to meet
preventing the gaze which first sparked affection
affectionate lust which lowered my guard
and weakened my morals
until pleasure proved the only feeling available
yet when it comes it feels distant
as if our passion was never lit, but illuminated
by the gaze which ruined us both

Your affection decreases and ceases
With every breathy kiss, skin flakes away
no tears dare fall, sorrow only sparks your rage
a sullen, hollow corpse I lay for your pleasure
to spank and prod and pound away at
moans fly and flutter through the air
while legs soar upwards into the sky
fiery passion sets your eyes ablaze
while mine lay hollow and empty
hiding behind curtains of flesh
preventing our gazes to meet
preventing the gaze which first sparked affection
affectionate lust which lowered my guard
and weakened my morals
until pleasure proved the only feeling available
yet when it comes it feels distant
as if our passion was never lit, but illuminated
by the gaze which ruined us both

you reveal your soul
like an unbuttoned blouse
with uneasy grin
you look at your spouse

but the tears in your eyes,
flowing down your cheeks
provoke no emotion from him
it's not your love which he seeks

I could give you attention
in attempt of redemption
from each little thing i have done
with short lived conversations
and exploring temptations
yet never thought of as "the one."

my memory, Monsieur Meursault,
never miraculous in strength
conjures quickly that scene;
the rundown theatre in which we interlaced lives
odd shaped patches of missing mane
crowning your Latin nape.
Moss-green cotton clinging,
Hugging, eroticizing your shoulder blades
pulled me in.  That day
the way your jeans clung tight yet loose
and your lips glided upwards
while your eyes twinkled and winked.
A modernized prince charming:
my only and sweetest memory.

I thought about the words you had spoken over and over until they began to roll out of your mouth on their own. Those words that begged for solitude, the absence of my being, but never specified the amount of time you wished to have no one in your life, to have anything but me in your life. Sometimes gliding by on a weak wind, and other times withdrawing air from my very lungs for which to have stability, your words came forth. While your utterances--your requests of utter seclusion--stampeded towards me like forgotten missed messages, the intelligent figure within your eyes whispered promises unkept and affections never true.

At one point I could dodge your provocative mannerisms, ones never thoughtful or complimentary, but simply sexual, for emotional ties had not yet formed. Yet when those odd spiritual chains bound me to you I could not escape your charming emotional abuse or the way you toyed with my hair exactly as you had done with each of your past female fixations and no longer could I dodge your mannerisms, nor your anything. Please do not let my visage mislead you again, for the cause of such color in my cheeks is not lust or love, but now simply flushed frustration in an attempt to rebuild the mental stability and independence you so easily dismantled with one thrust.