On this cloudy day...i be a book...on your breast...

On this cloudy day...
As on your lazy sleepy bed you lay,
With a novella bookmarked,
By your flat hair clip violet dark,
On your bosom upturned...
I wish to be into that plot by magic churned...
And separated from my physical constraints...
And to come straight under your discerning bluish lens...

Wish to be a character of the novella on your breast...
A strong, romantic, young, caring man who got the taste
Of your sweet kisses and dreamy soothing touch
Of your soft pining by your ideals of life so curiously matched...

Wish then I would be properly defined
Chosen perfect by your analytical, judicious yet emotional mind...
Wish then I would by fancy you take
Wish then I would leave you with a proper desired effect...
An effect attained by that mythical hero
An effect that hits your ground zero
And demolish all your suspended disbelief
And all your fears and worries that you keep
There within you for me unwarranted
There within you that your past experience bred...

On this cloudy day...
Wish to be a fiction dear...
A true fictional seer...
Who could easily trespass
Into you without issued gate-pass...






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