I was committing a crime and the punishment immediately flowed like a river on my hips.
There was something magical about his hands around my neck as they threw me into nirvana. In those lips that rested on my hips and colored them demandingly. I always wanted a tattoo in this place and his teeth were sharper than any needle.
"Lo... La... Lolita..." was what he sang between my breasts everytime he kissed those pretty nipples of mine.
The summer sun in the morning had already cried down a river on me, and now he was making me cry out in pain and bliss.
Something so bitter rested in my head... maybe it was tequila's fault that the moan from my tongue was dripping like hot honey? I couldn't tell if my body was on fire or if my soul was frozen.
God, how full of sin this love was, that he shared with me.
There was innocence in my eyes as his thumb caressed my cheek. Warmth poured into my stomach as his firm chest pressed against mine. He put his lips on my cherries for the hundredth time and it was as if I was on fire. Showering in boiled water with fire starting to burn between my legs endlessly.
What kind of power did he have? Law, morality, dignity... all of them were removed from my head and one thing was put inside my mind. "Field-colored eyes are the purest." It was my shrine and my religious trauma. A judgment handed down by schizophrenic geniuses is a great blessing. At this time you make them eternal in art and go through the dirtiest fantasies with the most sacred.
My muse was like that. Perverted, depraved, crazy, holy and poetic. I think he was like that too, or was he my muse?! Most likely.
I was crazy, in the name of the poetry. He was mad in the name of the poetry of money. There was a difference that was drawing a sword around my neck, which he was now kissing. He would follow the scent of the dollars like a hunter, and I would follow him. Man who had become my inspiration.
Still, how dare he win my heart in such a big theater full of people? Or how did I dare to let him? He probably immediately planned that, when he saw me holding hands with a single-celled boy. There was fear and there was beauty in our talks.
He was smart, I was manic and we were both money-making cars!
With my words and his business love? We would tear apart this world full of law. Maybe that's why we couldn't be near each other. The country was afraid of us burning them down. Maybe that's why we were in the world where they wouldn't let him touch my underage heart.
Only if they knew we had already split the bank.
•
There is smth romantic about two people who love money and poetry.
YOU ARE READING
Lo... La... Lolita...
Diversos"I was crazy, in the name of the poetry. He was mad in the name of the poetry of money."
