Slid my hand down the gentle back of memory,
Entering back into the realm of vile yet given consent,
Weighing the risks of tasting the salt on your lips and knowing that it has already bitten me in the ***,
Feeling sick to my stomach for knowing this is the most adrenaline I've had in my life...

And isn't that sad,
But we'll consider that in late night/early morning mid-April, and not now in hotel sensuality.

It's dawning on me early because my hand is cold
En route back and thinking heavy about everything between here and Independence.

Forward three years on and it's all still a mess.