the smell of coconut

The smell of coconut reminds me of the time we fucked on the counter of your parent’s beach house,
We had both drank too much, high on the feeling of summer
And the feeling of our sun-kissed skin dancing along each other.
You took me on the counter with no thought other than the need to feel me, pressed between the sink and the sweat of our joined hips,
And I moaned too long and loud for the neighbors to not wonder what trouble we had gotten into this time.
Those summer nights spent making love will always bring a smile to my lips, as well as a gasp of lost breath.

The smell of coconut reminds me of the time you fucked me on the front porch of your parent’s beach house,
We had just stopped arguing over something trivial and too unimportant to be remember all these years later,
You bent me over, covered in the shadow of a dark sky and her limitless stars,
Pulling my hair until all I could see was that endless view of sky and ocean.
And when we had fucked ourselves through, and exhausted all outlets,
We talked about what tomorrow would hold for lovers like us,
I remember waking up in the glow of the sunrise with your body pressed against mine.

The smell of coconut reminds me of you and all the memories we made those precious weeks down the shore.
The farewell of a boy that touched my body and heart among the waves of the ocean,
Leaving as quickly as he appeared within the tides.
The smell of coconut will always bring back memories of sex and you.
And I find I don’t really mind, for I had always been someone who hid from the longing of a memory, the want and desires of a fantasy lived past its days,
So I look back fondly on those memories we made on the beach,
With the scent of coconut lingering on my skin,
Wishing we could have fucked with the sun dancing along our silhouettes,
Under the shade of a coconut tree,
With the waves crashing on only the shore and not our young hearts,
And the sound of our hearts cracking is similar to the ones of the shell of a coconut,
Fallen from the tree it once called home.

a royal affair

The taste of you still lingers on my lips,
Whiskey and honey all wrapped in one, so sweet,
I couldn’t taste the poison lurking beneath those sinful lips and that talented tongue.
But, oh, these wine stained lips were always popular among mistresses,
And the apothecary has a talent for bringing back the dead,
So kiss me while I’m sill naked and begging, my crown scattered,
Wanting you to climb inside and taint the very essence of me.
The high class always did need to go out with a bang.

Poison never tasted as sweet than when you’ve licked if off a forbidden fruit.
While the moon is high and the sun hides behind a lustful gaze,
Let us fornicate among these proclaimed royals,
Where the jokers and court jesters blush as they peak through their fingers,
Licking their lips at the taste of all the kisses the French court has to offer,
And the King fucks maids, grabbing any warm body that comes their way,
The Queen can only get off when two knights praise her body,
Making love to all the many royal advisors and attendants she has,
But don’t let the King know that ill-kept secret.

So, come my sleeping princess, prick yourself on more than a wooden spindle,
And watch your blood flow from more than that delicate finger,
For the royal life cannot be all parties and sex and fine dining,
There must be pain and heartbreak so delicious it makes your toes curl,
Bend over; lift those skirts, and expose that shame you hide,
Red from more than the flush descending beneath your neckline,
And let yourself get lost in the anticipation of a royal affair,
Here, there is always more to late night balls than a pretty face and sultry gowns,
All you have to do is open the wooden doors that lead to the chambers
And let yourself be swept away by a magic to dirty to appear anytime before midnight.


Of all the two faced things in this world, yours was by far the ugliest,
For who could ever believe the snake dressed in rags and cheap gems?
You may have tired this game before with a different charmer,
But let me tell you, games of the mind happen to be a specialty of mine,
So lets dance around the poison darling and see who can survive the venom,
Nature was always good at natural selection,

You know of karma, seem to think of her as a friend,
But she has a way of making sure everyone gets what’s deserved,
And your bark seems to be as pathetic as your bite,
But its cute to see you all riled up,
And I’ve been thinking, what your issue is with us,
Only to come up short and confused, dazed in your glowing scales.
So I’ve stopped trying to win the heart of a fake lover, and started to focus on me,
And babe, it’s the best revenge crafted.

So hear me, while I’m inclined to speak my truth,
Let this shit go, for we both know I have way better things to take care of,
This dance is over, the game tired, and
Your charm will only work for the bones you’ve buried yourself with,
Leave the conversations for the adults that don’t lower themselves to grovel like children And I promise your ignorance will be just as blissful as I when your attention will no longer be when fixated on me.


Oh sweetie, it must be nice to feel so deeply, and not worry of their consequences
To speak so clearly and openly, I wouldn’t know,
For I speak in riddles and tongues foreign to even my chaotic mind,
I’d be lying, saying your attention was enough to change my ways,
But these habits are as hard to break as the stone surrounding my heart,
The fire and defenses that spit from my mouth, are as natural as the breath in my lungs,
And I do love your attention,
But it will never be enough to keep my wondering eyes, or my indifferent heart.
So lie to me, and maybe you’ll catch a grain of truth,
But know that I am constructed of guards with false integrity
And born from promises built on the very lies they’ve harbored.

Oh, darling, it must be nice to be so innocent in all the ways that count,
Yet you continue to play these childish games of envy,
My heart cannot be confined in the four walls you mean to keep me in.
Because I find myself in love with people and everything they are,
So in love that I can’t be kept from the strangers I find in my bed, in my mind,
Nor can I be kept from the lovers that make their way back,
Wanting more and more of what I pretended to give them.

I know you think you know me, my quirks, my soul, my very being,
But you know the me I let the rest of the world see,
The one that can make it in the crowd of serpents and saints,
You have yet to meet the girl behind this closed door,
Or the girl that writes these simple words onto the pages,
It’s not your fault; few have actually seen her,
For she is as lovely and fragile as the ghosts that haunt my timeless tales,
But you will never meet her, she only shows herself to the trusted
Who have seduced the guards and destroyed the stone surrounding her walls,

Oh, my would be lover, you have picked a hard game to beat,
But know you have lasted longer than many who came before,
And know that if I had been a simpler, better woman
I could have loved you in the way both of us might have wanted.
But for now, our story reminds me of a Grimm fairytale,
Beautiful and fatale in their lessons
Of feeling too deeply and greedily wanting more than a heart is allowed.

When She was Here

I think I first felt my heart flutter when your hand brushed the hair out of my eyes,
It was innocent and intimate and more than I could handle,
So, I laughed and joked about it all night long,
While my mind was diving deeper into what could be.
But I fear my heart does not know who to love another,
It has been trapped in this chest, beating with a drummer long deceased,
But it seems your eyes on me bring him a little more life than the last warrior to swept the battlefield.

I know I have never felt as strongly as when your lips are inches from mine,
And your soft fingertips running down my arm,
This illusion of a catered love is magical.
I smile as your hair brushes along my chest, falling over your shoulders,
Your laughter trailing down to the junction on my thighs
My smile falls into a gasp, I can’t believe the connection, however physical it seems.
So play up this fantasy for a little while longer,
And let me drink in my full, playing up the images my heart conjured from too many late night novels and taboo images,
Pretending that I can commit to a lover longer than a one-night stand.

Try as I may, my heart cannot cling to any other,
Sorry, baby girl, but she has belonged to me far longer than anticipated.
And I always put myself above others,
(Maybe it’s a skill developed over time, or maybe it’s from years of self-sacrifice)
Perhaps, too much self-love can be a damning thing,
My mind of heart over body cannot seem to separate the finer lines of reality,
And there was once a time when I could have loved you fiercely,
Loved you in all you were, red lips, full hips, curves that drew my eyes through to your my soul,
But that was before I cared about what my heart told my mind,
And what my mind would create in the absence of what my soul needed,
So try as I may, my heart has buried herself deep in my chest with the her drummer once again,
Maybe one day the she’ll make it across no man’s land, and into your arms.

crashing tides

Those worthy of love should only see the gift as beautiful and pure,
And darling, let me tell you, love is something I am not worthy of,
But, I never minded as much until you came along,
Demanding attention from ever part of me, battling with my heart,
Trampling over her fragile grace, her fleeting beauty.
But I am no more for you than the moon is solely meant for tides,
Two things that exist within the darkness of each other,
Never taking more than what the other gives.
Love was something to be seen, but never felt,
Because I don’t know if my heart is capable of such complex things,
But you believed to changed the very essence of me,
Destroying what could be, in favor of what you think should have been.

I will never be able to be the girl you need me to be,
For I am all wall and stone and sarcasm and fear,
Never allowing anyone to cross my lines without careful suspicion.
And for you to get across an enemy’s line does not mean you’ve won,
It only means that my demons were too curious to not let you into my space,
Eager to see that chaos you would bring to an already explosive heart.

That’s the thing about you,
You believe you’re the cure to a disease as ancient as time,
You think you can save me from myself, and you think you can cure me,
Always watching, always waiting for me to realize you’re right there,
But my mind is two steps ahead of yours,
Waiting and watching for the day you overstep and speak out of place,
Knowing that no one makes it past these hardened defenses,
And if they do, my ghosts always make their presence obvious.
Never allowing me a moments peace,
Such is the burden of a mind that thinks deeply and loves cynically

la petite mort

You’ll be the death of me, and consider yourself lucky on how beautiful it will be.
The French call them la petite mort, heart stopping and earth shattering,
But I have never felt more alive then when your lips are on me,
Hips working back and forth and tongue stroking.
My body has never been so hot then when it’s under you.
Make me come alive under skill and technique,
Make me moan from the sensations only you can bring out,
And my body will melt and conform to yours,
I’m shaking, unable to feel anything other than your hands and the blissful light.
Pull my hair, slap my ass, and make me wish I never could escape this moment,
God, you remind me of those romance novels,
Pure and hot and forbidden, trapped within the confides on my bedroom,
Never able to see the light of day, maybe, maybe only when I’m so high,
So high on love that I don’t care who is watching, eager to fuck,
Getting off on the idea of being seen and heard in my most intimate moments.
Eager to please and ready to ride the length of you,
Seeking release in any way possible, I grind my hips and call out to you,
Whimpering and begging for your attention,
Craving that need for release, exploding with the stars I see behind my eyes.