You have such
elegant
sleek
slender
stylish
svelte
pure
perfect
classy
classic
sports car
curves.
Driving you
would be
a delight.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
First posted around this time a few years ago. I enjoy driving.
Art by Annick Bouvattier
You have a body
that would stop me
mid-conversation
my eyes following you
across the room
storing the image
to later shape
into poetry.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Annick Bouvattier
Written a couple of years ago. Shaping your image into poetry now.
A girl like you.
In my youth I would have fought other boys for the right to walk you home. Wearing the scars like a badge. Or I would have wandered backwards and forwards past your house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you at a window. Or long for you to see me, a shadowy figure beneath the street light, and think me romantic.
In my youth I would have carved presumptuous initials into innocent trees, into battered park benches, into tables, and desks, and the backs of chairs – not caring if I was caught. Or that you would disapprove if you knew.
In my youth I would have sought you out at dances, making a mess of my over-rehearsed lines. I would have asked a friend to give you messages – which you would probably receive with a frown.
In my youth I would have made up a hundred heroic stories in my head where I come to your rescue. Saving you from the clutches of the mob, the grip of an assailant, the jaws of death. Or perhaps just finding your lost dog.
In my youth I would have written you tortured poems, toiled over for hours, scrawled on stolen paper, that would never leave the pocket of my faded denim jeans.
In my youth I would have wished for the internet, if I could have seen into the future.
Yet here I am. Connection at my fingertips. Posting pointless poetry.
That you will probably never read
A girl like you.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Written four years ago, and I am still posting pointless poetry.
Art by Annick Bouvattier
I adore
the soft
slow
sensual
sound
the tongue
of the zipper
makes
tantalizingly
releasing teeth
and baring skin
as you
undo
your dress.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Not new – but oh that sound ….
Art by Annick Bouvattier
I am not obsessive
in any way,
nor compulsive
by nature.
I do not have fetishes
or fixations,
crazes
crushes
cravings,
infatuations
or fads.
I do not have dependencies
or tendencies
towards addiction
But I truly
cannot get enough
of your body.
.
.
This is not new. But it says what I want it to say.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Annick Bouvattier
I am captivated
enchanted
enthralled
inspired
made hungry
made breathless
made hard
by the hem
of your skirt
as it rides up
high
on your thigh.
Moments
like these
make me believe
there might just be
a god.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Written a couple of years ago, but there are sometimes moments like these ….
Art by Annick Bouvattier
You have such
elegant
sleek
slender
stylish
svelte
pure
perfect
classy
classic
sports car
curves.
Driving you
would be
a delight.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
First posted around this time a few years ago. I enjoy driving.
Art by Annick Bouvattier
You have a body
that would stop me
mid conversation
my eyes following you
across the room
storing the image
to later shape
into poetry.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Annick Bouvattier
Written a year ago. Shaping your image into poetry.
If I could wish
hot summer
and you
bare-legged
short dress
high heels
cool room
brass bed
white sheets
hair wild
body mine
then I would
wish it
right now.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
I have posted this before – but I do wish it on this miserable English summer’s day.
Art by Annick Bouvattier
A girl like you.
In my youth I would have fought other boys for the right to walk you home. Wearing the scars like a badge. Or I would have wandered backwards and forwards past your house , hoping to catch a glimpse of you at a window. Or long for you to see me, a shadowy figure beneath the street light, and think me romantic.
In my youth I would have carved presumptuous initials into innocent trees, into battered park benches, into tables, and desks, and the backs of chairs – not caring if I was caught. Or that you would disapprove if you knew.
In my youth I would have sought you out at dances, making a mess of my over rehearsed lines. I would have asked a friend to give you messages – which you would probably receive with a frown.
In my youth I would have made up a hundred heroic stories in my head where I come to your rescue. Saving you from the clutches of the mob, the grip of an assailant, the jaws of death. Or perhaps just finding your lost dog.
In my youth I would have written you tortured poems, toiled over for hours, scrawled on stolen paper, that would never leave the pocket of my faded denim jeans.
In my youth I would have wished for the internet, if I could have seen into the future.
Yet here I am. Connection at my fingertips. Posting pointless poetry.
That you will probably never read
A girl like you.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Written three years ago, and I am still posting pointless poetry.
Art by Annick Bouvattier
