Suddenly there’s this harmless exchange of fluids. Autochthonous, it revels in what it brings my body to each day. My bones **** within me and pray that my skin will burst so they can see what I see, and touch what I touch, without barrier. They long for the silk that I run my fingers through, the roll of delicate fibres that shakes against my cardboard figure until light comes through the window in the morning.
His laughter bruises my stomach just below the cage that controls my depth and fluidity of motion. Not so suddenly, he’s become a peignoir to lay within forever, a kind of disease-filled sleep I’d never want to leave. It’s longing for fire while longing for ice, standing atop chilled coals that glow with crimson heat. His flesh against my teeth glows with crimson heat.
These words are nothing, less than autobiographical, when his neck cradles me wholly, and I come to find every word I’ve tried to search for in solitude. When vague scents of a yesterday I can never quite recall, and a tomorrow I’ll likely never see, find my third sense, I gain the eloquence my scents never give.
The shape of a face is different at all angles and fragrant bends, but the crying out all sounds the same. Red because my toes clung softly to his sheets until they clung hard, the white space at their peaks became florid at release. Red because of that. It smells like *** which smells like controlled strain, loving composure while gaining cover. Our leaps, our bounds were contorted today. I’ve every desire to live among them.
Logic throws nothing at me these days, bouts of greetings, nary a goodbye in sight until we look closer. Ah, there it is. I see it now. Far is, ten centuries, close is an hour or a jar filled with days. A penny for every day until he leaves me. More copper in a single colony than want could ever want.