I like to pretend that you know…
That you know, how I think of you during the day to help me pass the time.
I imagine that you would enjoy hugging me from behind. That you would wrap your long arms around my torso and breathe my scent slowly. Your heavy breathing so showy.
Its almost like you have before; a place in time not yet exposed. My imagination relentlessly finds her way to impose.
Your lips and the way you talk to me is of a foreign sweetness. Exotic honesties of your intention leave my mind during the day but they return in strength in the evenings.
How can I continue to entertain these unwarranted thoughts and taunts?
It is not necessary for me to have any more desires. Is my mind or my heart’s emptiness that toying requires?