longing leads to agony leads to anticipation leads to greed leads to
fire in the field where my mind is naturally burning as leaves fall in a foreign language like
foreplay in bits of sweat and moan, diffusion of arousal rising up to a tongue as
curved as sex, as concave and salivating as drips hanging down on
momentum forward-thrusting from hush to plunge to deeper rhythms of
squeezing in and oozing out, as sated eyes lie grazing the length of
dreams, awakening, the dawn as soft as someday, once when
all the leaves becoming
are spoken to us
(gif from estantane.tumblr.com)
No comments:
Post a Comment