by
LaTesha Miller
She doesn't love me,
She lives me,
Breathes in the entity that is me.
I'm her only means for existing,
The only thing she needs to BE.
And she is that for me.
My eyes to help me see,
My air. My lung. Each breath I breathe.
I bask in her whimsically,
Invade her intrinsically,
Fill her with melodic harmonies.
And the music she makes? It's made just for me:
When she whispers she misses me,
Moans as she kisses me,
Swallows me so deep she even pisses me....
Everything about me is her fancy.
That's right, that crooked smile only fancies me.
No need for extras please.
I'm her star. she's zoomed in on me.
We aren't blood but she's kin to me.
I dream of her incessantly.
Even when she's standing right next to me.
she has that affect on me
Cuz I know she loves me genuinely.
Our love is fathomed in poets' dreams.
Their pens write of our prophetic streams.
Our streams protect, but not Achilles.
I bathe my heart in that water; no swimming please.
I'd drown in her happily
To be reborn in our loves infinity.
Then I'd live her eternally
For she pumps bliss thru the veins of my poetry.
