Sex With The Narcissist

Sometimes I feel it, sometimes I don't

For I am a wayward flower

Desperate to be plucked--

Oh wayward horse, why are you running?

For I want death to stomp on me!

For here are a myriad of roses,

I appreciate the love

And kiss me with those wayward lips

Kiss me with your burning breath,

For I am wayward still.

Do not burn my bosoms though

For I will disappear

Into the darkest abyss of your love--

Your love is a drunken stupor

And I am the strain

Our bodies roll

Our bodies scream...

Poetry is the greatest sex

Oh what a brilliant facade

Have sex with me, but mean it please

For sex with a narcissist stinks

Where are the roses that died last night?

For this is all a fantasy...