By Maan “Maggie” Villar, The World According to Maggie V


the fullness of my female unravel,

under your gaze…

the songs we love to make love to,

play on the stereo…

spiced rum and flavored cigarettes,

lying around in the patio…

the woody notes of your perfume rush through my nose,

as we enter your dimly lit room…

my blood rushes,

my ligaments loosen,

a soft sigh escapes my lips,

and i find myself lost in your strong embrace,

and butterfly kisses…

a gentle slumber,

and we are wakened by the sunlight of tomorrow…

i sip my coffee,

exit your flat,

take a bath,

put on my heels and a skirt,

another day goes by…

in the middle of words, numbers and thoughtless converse,

a sudden surge of last nights escapades enter my mind,


it gives a shiver down my spine,

and a small grin…

the vicious cycle,

the sexy man,

the highlight of my day,

the knicker moments…

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By Maan “Maggie” Villar, The World According to Maggie V


I find it odd that most of the things I have put up in this blog did not come to me when I am in a ‘proper writing environment’. Not only what I write but I would think about smarter arguments or retorts, better sarcastic remarks, things to write on my thesis and even plan a whole day, week, or month. Most of it comes when I am doing my sacrosanct lady needs in the shower room. And the past couple of days getting lost on the Internet has led me to realize that it does not happen only to me, in fact there are memes, comments, and articles about the whole shenanigan of getting your best thoughts inside the bathroom.

I chanced upon an article to explain “Shower Room Ideas”:

“the reason why we get ideas in the shower is because we’re not working and our bodies are doing something totally different, it’s a new stimulus environment, and the stuff we have been ruminating on just assembles itself in a completely different way in our subconscious…”



By Maan “Maggie” Villar, The World According to Maggie V


In the sea of men,

Of women,

Of dating,

Of love,

And of random hook-ups,

Casual fornication

And making love…


There are the brick-headed philanderers,

Who would forget your name come morning time,

There are beautiful Barbie types,

With alabaster skin and crimson lips,

Who would drool at the mention of Socrates,

Who care about the latest shades of lipsticks,

Or new stocks of designer shoes,

But could care less where their taxes are going,

Or with nuclear weapons manufactured in North Korea,

They just care that their hair is perfect,

And that they are the most beautiful gazelle in the bar,

On a night the man who takes them home would forget,

When the stupor of alcohol and strobe lights wear off…


There are the silent-types seeing the world in rose-colored glasses,

Stealing a glance at you,

Making a beautiful portrait of an angle where your hair drapes gracefully at your back,

An angle where your eyes are half-closed and melancholic,

On paper that would make a connoisseur dig deep in his pockets years after…

You would forget about him,

But he would make you his muse,

Up until he hangs himself on a noose,

Because you never noticed,

You never cared…


There are bookish-type women,

Who live secret lives in the lines of story,

Who rides the train hoping to chance upon a beautiful stranger,

A beautiful stranger who never came,

And she would find herself on the looking glass,

With graying hair and dull eyes years after,

Only to look after domesticated animals,

To water potted plants,

And write beautiful lines of verse,

About a stranger she never met…


The philanderer was left by his greatest love,

The beautiful gazelle takes her chances but ends up left alone,

The artist tragically ended alone and dead,

And the woman of letters was alone in her death bed…


There are many other stories,

Many other people,

Who spend their lives looking for love –

Only to fail and cry the rest of their nights away…


There are men and women you love for the night,

And those that you love for a lifetime…



By: Maan “Maggie” Villar, The World According to Maggie V

I remember a couple of peculiar things about you:

You always told me you loved to make love to me on rainy days –

With the soft pitter-patter of rain on your window sill,

And the gray of clouds hovering outside and dimming your room,

Chills from the cold meeting our skins,

And you wrap your strong arms around my waist and pull me close…

It made me feel loved,

It made me feel home…

You make love to me romantically and softly on normal days,

Passionately and hard on special ones…

I feel your manliness,

Your familiar rough,

The scent of your skin,

And its incandescent glow right after you release…

One thing about you is you kiss my tears of pleasure away,

Right after I reach my climax,

And softly blow on the back of my neck,

That it makes me crazy,


You were so good…

But sex and attraction aside,

Come nighttime,

When I pretend to be asleep at your side,

You pull your fleece blanket right below my chin,

And I feel you observing me…

You think I am asleep…

And I am warmed when you give me a kiss,

On the lips,

And on the forehead,

Right before you saunter to your side of the bed,

And I hear your silenced breathing and cute snores…

The best thing happens when I wake up before you do in the morning,

That picture of the moment

When the first rays of the sun enter your window

And touch your skin…

You are at your most vulnerable,

Yet it is a vision,

A breathtaking moment it was.

With that soft glow from the first rays of sunrise entering your window,

And touching your skin,

You emit the man you are,

And for some reason,

The air I inhale refuses to leave my lungs,

And I fall in love you again,

That picture of you never left my mind…

On Sundays after a busy week,

When we stay in bed and talk of the most deep, innocent and mundane things,

Whispers of sweet words at noon time,

While I prance around only in your soft white shirt draping my body,

We laugh and we make love again,

Wait for our pulses to slow,

And make love even more,

Up until our backs and thighs are hardened and sore from it all…

We stare into the nothingness of space in between orgasms,

Heaving deep breaths of air,

Smiling at our accumulated skill,

We were untamed beasts,

And at the same time frail kittens when in bed,

Loving and fucking,

Weary from the physical toil,

But very content,

We are living proof that ‘the best things in life are free’…

I love who I am when I am with you,

The woman that I become in your presence,

When you tirelessly sniff on the chasm where my ears and neck meet,

Right where I spray on my perfume,

Or when you lie on my stomach and I feel motherly and peaceful,

And when you kiss my fingers even with its cracked polish…

So on a rainy day,

On a Sunday,

Make love to me again,

And on that rainy day,

On that Sunday,

I might fall in love even more…