poetic pages

Sad sex

You kiss my smooth skin
Thank my dermatologist
You touch my insides
But you're no gynecologist
You try and read my mind
But you're no psycologist
I am a closed book
On the highest shelf
I think you get the gist
Don't get pissed
Because I'm afraid to speak
You can blame my anxiety
No one listens to me
I stay up to 3
Am, can't sleep
Again, help me
You can't, drowning
I am, downing
A bottle of moscato
Now you're frowning
You say I'm a queen
But there's no crowning
They think I'm the jester
Cause I'm clowning
Myself, put my heart
In your oven, it's black
But I thought it was browning
You can keep it
I don't want it nor need it
You can shape or knead it
Love, I just can't bleed it
Lust, we greed it
But maybe if we freed it
We wouldn't breed it
Into future generations
They would read it
In others eyes
But never plead it
Their love, lust won't impede it
Their energy won't be depleted