Peeling off layers of you, my skin is raw and exposed. Your touch has burned its way into my bones. I’d need an amputation to remove you.
My eyelids seared your face into the backs of them, I cannot shut you out.
My fists clench your remains with a state of rigamortis. They died the day I let go of your grasp.
The hollow in my chest echoes a beat my heart stopped making. The rhythm, once a record played, is now scratched and skipping tracks.
My head is full of cobwebs, where you spun your trap. I sit and wait for you to come to consume me once again.
My tongue just tastes the sweat of my defeat. To be swallowed by you is written on my tomb.
The decay inside this absence rotts my remains. But so did living in the light of your magnetic gaze. For it only lasted as long as I painted to your preference.
The scenes of me would flicker across your face. Your disapproval was the day turning to night. The kind that's haunted with a fright that steals a soul.
I move my legs towards the door, broken and gimping, I keep turning around to see you.
Standing there waiting with a knowing I can’t escape.
I wrote of you with permanent marker on the chalkboard. It can never be wiped clean. I have to write over you, again and again, as It scrambles the clarity of each new word.
I do my wash in your well and can't get the smell out of my clothes. It's musty allure stings my nose with each inhale.
You left your potion on my nightstand, I’m addicted to its intoxication. Only your alchemy can produce such a brew. This detox is as fruitless as the indulgence, as this ambiguity cannot be cured.
The magnitude of you shrinks my size to nothing. When you wrap me in your vines, I am a giant who falls from heights.
The ground is where you catch me, and my climb begins again.
I keep running towards the day I left behind.

By the way, did you know that the good ole USA according to Salon Magazine is not even on the list of most sexually satisfied countries. Even communist China has us beat, never mind Switzerland, Italy, Japan, Spain, the Netherlands, Brazil, Greece, Mexico, India, Australia, Germany, and Nigeria to name a few. 
  
  The legacy of the Christian imprimatur has devastated the ****** ecosystem of the American Psyche.  The language used by the middle minded "good people" to describe sexuality is often an ugly cocktail composed of derisive language, like disgusting, slimy, unclean, offensive, obscene, squalid, and nasty to name some. I was once married to a woman who weaponized *** using the word disgusting, meaning my desire for her was disgusting, and I'm disgusting. It was devastating. How could that end well? These words remain a mantra of harm in many relationships shaping a marriage towards abject failure. Isn't Venus already fickle enough without calling that regal gift-giver of love and ****** pleasure an omnibus of epithets?
  
  Can you tell the other person your deepest darkest secrets and feel safe? Can they tell you theirs, or is trust an issue?  
Do we wheedle each other with deception to save face and struggle in a gimping relationship assigning it to crutches, a wheelchair, or an early death propagated by an unholy trinity of ignorance, frustration and co-belligerence on the subject of erotasisim as we clutch hopelessly to hope, wondering how things get so loused up?
Most relationships end over finance and ****** unhappiness.

  While cyber **** is accused of bringing out the worst in us  a short trip through contemporary anthropology demonstrates *** remains ***** irrespective of cyber ***, besides have you seen my stained collector magazine collection at the Museum of *** in NYC?
  
Check it out.
1 Weird ****** Practices from all around the world
1.1 Egypt- Public *******
1.2 Mangaia- Old women sleep with much younger men
1.3 Ancient Greece- Young boy lover to an elder male
1.4 Nepal- Brothers share a wife
1.5 New Guinea- Sambian tribe drinks *****
1.6 Indonesia- *** with strangers on Pon festival
1.8 Cambodia- *** will multiple partners before finding the one
1.9 West Africa- Wife stealing festival
1.10 Marquesas Island, French Polynesia- Children watch their parents having ***
1.11 Inis Beag-Make love with underpants on
1.12 Chattisgarh, India- No emotional attachment ***
1.13 Columbia- Make a man trip to have ***
1.14 Haiti- ****** dance
1.15 New England- No-no to penetrative ***
1.16 Rural Austria- Armpit flavored apples
2 15 Unsolved and Perplexing Mysteries of India
2 17 Japanese ***** Festival
  
  As for language  I prefer mango drip shake kissy witchy **** myself, as opposed to disgusting, but profanity can be bicameral too. On one hand of course it can be cruel on the other it can be an aphrodisiac. Ooow your so gona get it you little *****
Context in its intersectional shades of emotional content is everything.
Do we appreciate the impulses of the chaotic dusky subconscious that may fascinate when it comes to those ****** ideations that may cross our minds in the most private of moments Why not use them to enrich your life, or do we run from them and our primal truth? 
 
  While most all praise only tenderness who says *** is just about love, gentility, and the tender promulgated by middle-minded. Is this **** worm pathology rooted in anti-****** Victorian confabulations of the synoptic religions like tattoo ink into the psychic skin forming a deep seated stain of medieval horrors evocative of a Boschesque inferno with bubbling skin, pitch forks and melting collagen? No, no dont hurt me 
  
  In a life filled with stress and endless concerns about survival ****** expression is a sacred oasis for many of us, not another place to be told what we should do, or feel, or think, or be subliminally infested by the Piscean age pathogens as we currently remain still in the grips of the old Roman empire.
  
  Through an in depth exploration of erotasisim through ****, personal experience and literature we might know our own shadows better, share them happily with others, and bring that dark harvest to light so it doesn't trip us up in an exchange of lies to others but most importantly to our selves. At least when you hookup on a social media ***/date oriented site people tend to tell you the most intimate things about themselves up front.  

It may be important to note the difference between mere sexuality and erotasisim. Sexuality is a beautiful impulse but eroticism raises *** to the status of art. Besides *** itself I think of the athletic sensuality of belly dancing as an example.

"if its *****
*****
naughty
or just plane wrong
i want it"

  To acknowledge the shadow, or better yet enjoy it, doesn't at all mean we are devoid of decency, kindness and love. May I suggest that those virtues are so much more potent when they are part of an integrated whole of our being including the dark side. Real musicians, artists, writers and for that matter people who have the spine to be authentic don't just play the vanilla notes and neither do exciting lovers.
God save the kink!