I've caught myself, busy chasing swirling stars, longing for something. I had this taste in my mouth, of blood, of my veins bursting, of a kiss full of life.
I went walking, tonight, I curled my hands around my books, I ached for the returning, to the time before I slept in her presence, before I, with elation, tasted her sugar lips, before the hands had shaken, before my soul had shifted, before the night had fallen, before I had a chance to fuck, to go back, would I have done things differently?
No. But the innocent in me, wishes, and strives for it, for that part of me that sat in the garden, that night, turning leaves and turning thoughts, breaking waves and breaking bone china, lost in that sea, tipping and turning in the dread of human heartbreak, existing betwixt the love of primate and sapien, pounding the ground, smelling the earth, lost in you, lost in life, and never, never so lost to reality that I can't hit your ground running, to feel the ecstasy of that first orgasm, to feel my heart pounding as all ten of your searching fingers and thumbs reach around me, employ every nerve ending you have in response to mine, in this all too brief expulsion of primal lusts.
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