You've got your box of chocolates
Red bag with a cuddly toy
I'm dreaming more than football
Wish you were my cutie boy.
You sit there oblivious
Young enough to be my son
Going home alone on Valentines
Oh how I'd love wicked fun.
Sitting across from me
So sexy as you yawn
Even though I can't touch
In my head I'm dreaming porn.
How I'd love to stretch over
Take you by the arm
But I don't want to get arrested
Causing distress and alarm.
In my imagination
We're fumbling and doing tongues
I wonder how much it would cost me
If I was offering dirty bungs?
In our train carriage
There was only me and you
Sadly it's all a fantasy
My dream would never come true.
You'd sit on the table
As I'd undo your belt first
Then you'd slide down your trousers
As I'd do my dirty old man worst.
Swallowing your cock
It wouldn't matter what size
Taking your load down my throat
That would be my prize.
Alas we're now at Stratford
It's time to go our separate way
You'll forever be my 'home from Hornchurch' fantasy
I doubt if you're even gay.
In an hour I'll be naked in bed
Conjure you up in my memory bank
The Valentine's Boy in my dreams
As I have my 14th of February wank.
Dulwich Poet 14th February 2017
(I wrote this on the train home from football last night, on an empty train, with just me and a young man sitting on a seat on the other side of the aisle in our carriage. It was Valentines Day...)
