There’s a strong urgency in *******. The longing for there to be another human body pressed up against your own, so much so you envision it vividly in your mind, painting hundreds of thousands of scenarios until you find one just right for your hand,
for your body.
It's not about pleasure, but about that momentary loss of place and time, a further commitment to your imagination but to your loneliness as well.
Making love, a sweaty pit stop between the sheets. Politicians, librarians, directors, janitors, authors, queens, kings, moms, you, me, All guilty of this bittersweet act of sticky significance. All willing to tangle our limbs every night.