In my perfect world.
You would be my toy of choice,
skin on skin beneath a shaded light
fingers fumbling and skin alive.
The tips of nerves, stretching, slow and deep,
moments in memories meant to keep.
In a life that let me loan,
You’d be the passion behind each moan.
You’d be my worn out disc
Worth every moment spent at risk.
In a perfect world where I did rule,
You’d be my perfect relaxation tool.
Karen Hayward ©2016