Please view my inspiration piece at:
http://johntimmons.com/video/archives/479
Poetry (Let it Out)
You tell me that you'll be my confessor
With no hope of redemption, I'll be your obsessor
Your strong hands are without desire
Still they melt my frozen flesh of fire
Without contact you penetrate me
My eyes are shut but you make me see
I've never felt this a thousand times before
Without payment, I'd be your whore
It could never have been and yet it must
Without telling lies I have betrayed your trust
What is this pedestal you've built for me
Made of bricks that I could never be
Your confidence in me is unnerving
But my hope for better is worth preserving
My perfect flaws are hidden from view
Without absolution, I keep them from you
Of all your faith, I doubt I am deserving
My road ahead is long and swerving
Prose (Untitled)
I think about just (just) making out with you all the time lately. Not in a general sense, but specifically. I grab your shoulders, suck on your lower lip, flick the tip of my tongue against yours, against your earlobe, against your neck. You close your eyes and I breathe you in and then our mouths are locked together and then...
Slowly and gently at first, then faster as we get the rhythm of it, then harder, more intense until there is no more you, no more me, only kissing. Lips, tongues, saliva-you can't breathe but you can't stop. It could end at any second, but it feels like forever and then...
Music (21 Guns)
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