You touched me,

fuckkkkkk,

and I could feel my insides uncurl,
long forgotten what this felt like.

****** blush on my cheeks,
while your lips covered,
the parts of me that would be my u n d o i n g.

Gasps and grasping at something immobile,
while you sent me soaring
with your oral dexterity.

Only whimpers, breathing rushed,
what is my name again?
So close to the heavens, you're my super nova,
                         r
                       e
                     v
taking me o        the moon.

Gimme, gimme, headspace so intense.
Harder, faster, take me there.

Coming in with sparks and the day's
worries just shatter, forgotten.

Sated, saccadic, sanative.

I used to feel the words flow from my fingertips like water waiting eagerly to drool from the open mouth of a faucet,
now I feel them shoot directly from my fingertips with an ultimate intention of their destination, or at least the summation of the amalgamation of each sensation they could evoke ,
i wrote, to find some clarity in my thoughts or emotions, finding it easier to pick apart and choose rights and wrongs in a literary format.
Now I write because at times I simply must or my soul my burst from the hot air my ego pumps into it, writing is like turning a pressure valve, like applying a healing salve, like blowing your nose and clearing the debris,
writing is like waffles with butter and maple syrup
writing is fuckkkkkk
writing is something I love but have been neglecting my passion for as of late,
I think I shall once more seek its embrace.