The sweat  from her skin but a creation of passion.
In the rapture of plessure no prisoners taken.
Rage made passion, plessure made the moment.

Inside from the storm the encounter was torment of the best kind.
The bed creaked as a ****** end would only inspire more vivid
desires.

More than *** was a moment of two bodies colliding
on the plessure cast road to release.
Flesh meeting and all false manners cast aside
the primal motives always kick in.

Her body was a shared experience theater for
of a wicked plessure.
Her skin pure in such a jaded since.

Tommorow would the moment be lost in some sort
of awkward  rythm of stillness.
Two stranger's who need reason to meet.

Or would the true self speak above the moral  code.
The drink of life I so wish to drown within tonight.
Naked  thoughts bared scars.

We would venture  back to circles her's would view her
a ***** for knowing happiness.
And mine would yern to only hear of conquest but
see in mirror and dream with deaf ear.

It was a plessure to embrace chaos.
So may we drown togather again.