I'd like to see your color wet, adorned with inset eyes that still somehow balance float on your face.
You are a precipice of cold talent and an openness that makes me wonder where you get your hard side from. The one that's just like me, a hunter, wanting the soft ones.
You're the man of your relationship, newspaper and guitar while your girl cooks. I want to see the way you control your lady and boss her around.
It would still be cutesy compared to me, someone who's seen of what you've only wondered, what it is like to be cisgendered fauxconquerer, looking down at your sword to wipe off the lubeblooded kill.
The girly jungle of raised legs calls to both of us but only one of us has a peg. Do you want to borrow mine?
You're the kind of girl I'd let conquer me because right now I don't care which roles we play. You're a soft loving mystery with no murder and a bike shorts thigh gap hiding a ginger snatch.
I want to bury my face in that and smell you as you gasp and get in touch the part of yourself that's wants to be owned by a shaft. Don't deny.
We all have it.