Might just be

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/Faded Romantic

Not new by any means, but I like it.

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 

Baring skin

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/Faded Romantic

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 

Might just be

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/Faded Romantic

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 

In my youth

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 some years ago, and I am still posting pointless poetry.

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 

Baring Skin

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

 

Cannot get enough

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.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

This is not new. But it says what I want it to say.

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 

Might just be

 

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

 

Sports car

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

 

Shape

 

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.

 

In my youth

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