Mar 2013
I’ll take you now, all that you are. Bite into my arms, you’re not trying to hurt me I know so I smile, you are just trying to be as close as you can for awhile. While you cannot feel guilt, while you forget to second guess. Your hands encase my wrists and your eyes bore into my own, I know what you’re looking for - the parts we never show. You outline the digits of my hand like they are your favorite tools to manipulate, that they are the only phrases you may entertwine with your own at the height of moments. My skin glides above yours, begging for the dissertation that you only can write.
Those first sentences will tentatively start with brushes of fingertips, touches at my arms and thighs, but they will pause after an introduction of lips and I will feel as I have at every single one of your readings. Foreplay is just your way of working up to your main point, no pun intended. The facts and examples are the neck kisses and when we undress you bring forth your objectives in a way I could never deny, would never ignore. Another moment to take each other in, as if we were opposing sides of the debate but that is hardly the case. But it doesn’t last and who’s to say who is to blame, who could not stand the wait. The lines you spin, so soft across my mouth I will murmur like quotes I have read in books, but the hooks that pull you closer to the truth, are teeth in my bottom lip demanding I be closer to you. Undertones whisper past my ears as your hands find themselves tangled in my curls and I lose myself to your voice, calming and soothing, as strange as that may seem. The tone you have set is one of urgency, but with a need to get the point across and not lost in it’s volatile haste.
The words you lose to my mouth in a kiss, and I forget the voice you are using, because I no longer need to hear you because I feel you instead. The strife, the iron in your soul and the somehow simultaneous fear and lust for life are pulling me into you. Or you into me. The body paragraphs have come together all so suddenly that I could cry out, but your mouth swallows mine and I am enthralled with the story we are writing for a short time. While you cannot doubt yourself, while I am free and neither are second guessing. We take advantage of such moments with a vigilante manner as if to say it was what should have been happening all along. My nails and teeth on your collarbones give you that extra, that bite of reality you needed to know you were on the right track. We spread out a colorful vocabulary of bruises and smears and scratches on our pages, tearing at all the feelings we assess only under wearisome candlelight and strong liquor. You have come full circle and your hands firm on my hips are when you make your final call to end the case, eyes on mine and mouths only responding to the other instead of their original owner.
We have reached our conclusion, or have we? Fiction or reality?
Those first sentences will tentatively start with brushes of fingertips, touches at my arms and thighs, but they will pause after an introduction of lips and I will feel as I have at every single one of your readings. Foreplay is just your way of working up to your main point, no pun intended. The facts and examples are the neck kisses and when we undress you bring forth your objectives in a way I could never deny, would never ignore. Another moment to take each other in, as if we were opposing sides of the debate but that is hardly the case. But it doesn’t last and who’s to say who is to blame, who could not stand the wait. The lines you spin, so soft across my mouth I will murmur like quotes I have read in books, but the hooks that pull you closer to the truth, are teeth in my bottom lip demanding I be closer to you. Undertones whisper past my ears as your hands find themselves tangled in my curls and I lose myself to your voice, calming and soothing, as strange as that may seem. The tone you have set is one of urgency, but with a need to get the point across and not lost in it’s volatile haste.
The words you lose to my mouth in a kiss, and I forget the voice you are using, because I no longer need to hear you because I feel you instead. The strife, the iron in your soul and the somehow simultaneous fear and lust for life are pulling me into you. Or you into me. The body paragraphs have come together all so suddenly that I could cry out, but your mouth swallows mine and I am enthralled with the story we are writing for a short time. While you cannot doubt yourself, while I am free and neither are second guessing. We take advantage of such moments with a vigilante manner as if to say it was what should have been happening all along. My nails and teeth on your collarbones give you that extra, that bite of reality you needed to know you were on the right track. We spread out a colorful vocabulary of bruises and smears and scratches on our pages, tearing at all the feelings we assess only under wearisome candlelight and strong liquor. You have come full circle and your hands firm on my hips are when you make your final call to end the case, eyes on mine and mouths only responding to the other instead of their original owner.
We have reached our conclusion, or have we? Fiction or reality?
