Spring, flower, rising.

Tower, above, rising.

He was fit. I wanted to sit.

His lips. Our tips.

Touching. Moving.

Removing. Discarded.

No music but we find a rhythm.

In this dream we’re more than friends.

But dreams feel hollow next to memories of the real experience.

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Categories: Fiction poetry short story writing

Tagged as: #Alone #boyfriend #Boys #California #cock #depression #drama #Dreams #emotions #fantasy #FlashFiction #friends #gaypoem #gaysex #GayWriter #GenderQueer #identity #images #LGBT #LGBTWriter #LosAngeles #love #lover #masturbation #memory #music #night #oral #past #poem #purpose #SC #SERIES #sex #ShortStory #songs #SouthCarolina #story #West Columbia #words #writer #YA #YAfiction #youngadult Fiction poetry writing

jasonwhitaker29171

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