Our lips met in a cosmic collision, like the sun and the moon in an eclipse; we sensually nibbled, and ******, and licked, and tongued, and got a taste of each other's sadness. I could almost swear kissing you felt like drowning and yet, never wanting to come up for air. Our hands were frantic, like ballerinas made to dance under the tune of insane rock music; we fumbled on each other's zips and buttons, 'til they were ripped along with our clothes and the masks we wore. Our skins grazed in sweat and despair, like the earth good-morning-kissed by the sun after an entire night of raining; we caressed and clawed on backs; I was pretty sure I had glimpse of your soul, and you probably saw a void where mine should be, but we let our demons dance 'til two, like figure skaters gliding gracefully over thin ice during a winter night.
And I thought it was love. God, I almost called it love, I even wished it was.
But darling, it was the bottles on the floor. Probably *****.