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For her… the good girl with the freak buried just beneath the surface. This isn’t just poetry—it’s permission.
Permission to imagine. To ache. To let your body read along until you forget where the words end and your desire begins.
Every verse is a slow stroke, every rhyme a breath against your skin. These pages don’t just tell stories—they touch you, tease you, tempt you. This book is your late-night whisper, your secret lover, your unapologetic escape.
Don’t be shy. You’ve been waiting for this.
For her… the good girl with the freak buried just beneath the surface. This isn’t just poetry—it’s permission.
Permission to imagine. To ache. To let your body read along until you forget where the words end and your desire begins.
Every verse is a slow stroke, every rhyme a breath against your skin. These pages don’t just tell stories—they touch you, tease you, tempt you. This book is your late-night whisper, your secret lover, your unapologetic escape.
Don’t be shy. You’ve been waiting for this.