Heart Wants What It Wants / Poetry / Time Machine Love

My Bed of Roses

I was staring blankly up at the ceiling

Worrying and wondering

How hard it is to fall into your traphole.

I saw your shadow as you came in.

You crouched down to my ears and whispered,

“Come with me, I made you a bed of roses”

You didn’t know how butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

You led the way and kissed my neck all the way down to my torso.

I held your hand and moaned a little louder, a little sexier.

You covered my mouth and said “hush baby, they’re gonna hear you”

I obliged as you pull down the delicate lace down my legs,

touched me where no one had.

You brought me to places I never once was.

You grabbed my hand as you went inside me,

gripped my thigh

but only so you could thrust more deeply.

I loved that night

and you enjoyed it only.

You groaned and slammed yourself into me.

Thinking to myself that maybe “you feel so tight”  means “I care about you”

but it didn’t.

I thought “love you” was the same as the words “I love you”

and you were just too tired to say that one more word – hell it’s just one more letter.

I wanted it to become less of a fuck

and more like a great adoration.

But I was wrong.

When I woke up in the morning empty and alone,

I realized there weren’t any roses

It was just my flesh.

You plucked my petals

and turned it into a bed of roses.

My bed of roses.


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