Pacified Tickling

When I wanted, I could have. I could do and plan or itch and pounce however my veins turned. He put it in my hands – I control it, I feed it. I was ready the day after he and I merged, the timeframe that seemed like a day but I believe actually lasted at least three. It has ultimately become meaningless, the exactitude applied to recording and according how the passages of seconds are spent – what date or which hour was it – was it a Casual Friday or a Fuck Me Monday? Did it impede upon the sacred weekend?

I took up food, four days and nights gorging stuff that was as palatable as the strained crap fed to babies and stuff that lingered on my tongue yet could still never surpass what I truly drooled for. My neck whimpered for companionship – Ezekiel’s neck mewed too, but it needed others – we needed others to pacify the tickling.

Torrid

It must be over one hundred degrees in here. We are oil slicks, the floor a swallowing grill. I have coated him in us, my neck weeping once more, happy to find a twin, the still burning candle a single spurting vein. All outside sounds momentarily die – shut out by this suction cup flight I have boarded.

Every breath brought awake by the torrid humidity……his mouth is on my shoulder….surrendering…making the offering equal…..his hands now steadying my waist, gently raising me for my head to extend further onto him. I’m in his mouth, putting him inside, returning what I felt, sharing the ride.

We are inside one another, our souls whipping the flames that had kept us at unrest.

Sexy Colors

Squeezing someone's jugular isn't fun; the skin flips into blue shades. I never cared much for that color - purple, definitely. Red, sure. But blue doesn't do it for me. Especially when it swims into yellows and greens and other noxious hues.

Veins are sexy though.