
Briefly and concisely explain what your love can do for your girl.
Consider not using it if she needs to provide more context on why you do what you do. Be engaging. Focus on delivering value to her.


You walk around like you’re the center of the universe, but honestly, people are just rolling their eyes when you talk. Confidence is attractive — what you have is just a loud mix of ego and a small one. At this point, even Jesus would be side-eyeing you, wondering how you turned humility into whatever this is. Maybe try a little self-awareness next time; it would suit you better than that overinflated attitude you call a personality.
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Small things
it’s the little things
i wanna do with you.
i wanna run and bathe
in the rain with you.
i wanna stay up all night
with you.
i wanna cook nutritious meals
for you.
it’s the little things
i wanna do for you.
i wanna hand-picked
roses for you.
i wanna play the fool
for you.
i wanna be there for you.
i wanna do all these little things
just for you.
What is it men in women do require?
The lineaments of Gratified Desire. What is it women do in men require? The lineaments of Gratified Desire.
Desire to us
Was like a double death, Swift dying Of our mingled breath, Evaporation Of an unknown strange perfume Between us quickly In a naked Room.
You came to the side of the bed
and sat staring at me. Then you kissed me — I felt hot wax on my forehead. I wanted it to leave a mark: that’s how I knew I loved you. Because I wanted to be burned, stamped, to have something in the end- I drew the gown over my head; a red flush covered my face and shoulders. It will run its course, the course of fire, setting a cold coin on the forehead, between the eyes. You lay beside me; your hand moved over my face as though you had felt it also- you must have known, then, how I wanted you. We will always know that, you and I. The proof will be my body.
Love Sonnet XI
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

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