You. Ask. Me. To take you. There.
I look, up.
I break. Open.
You wonder if I know. Who you are.
Of course I do. I donʼt want to. I do. You are too deep inside of my mind. My hand moves through you, molecules drifting.
Your hips rise up.
I push them back. Down. Don’t worry. I’ve got you. Into my mouth. Lips split from the heat soft smoothness sliding. In. My tongue swells, a velvet blanket of red swaddling this tenderness. Tugging you back down, reaching into the cave of my throat and yes, the door opens.
My mouth begins. The vibration singing at the top of my lungs without sound. There. Your pulse. I know you. I unfracture and now there are two. One. Cannot move. Your cock sucking me down, whirling me down and through. One after another, I fall through, and am left. Raw. Bone and sinew. Red light. I canʼt. Move. The pressure builds in my throat and I am forced back my lips melting to fluid wax. I feel. You become flesh again.
The slow motion of tissue on tissue. The somber tones of having found.
I bend, soft kneel down into the pews of you.
Soothe your scent into me.
My tongue, wicked, serpents its way up, sneaking around for more.
You soft animal moan. Your veins swell, turgid. Your cock heaves into the cavities of my cheeks. All of you resting there, swell and sway so slow we move.
I let the back of my tongue reach out for you and it lands on your apex that splits into canyon and earth down to my arches.
I feel. Home.
I shape myself around arteries and blood. No, coil into and wonder if you see me. There. Sweet pulse down to my belly. White milk, opaque film over my vision. Cleansed into droplets that pour from the thunder.
I remain without motion, to receive you.
Re-robing back to innocence. The again unknowing of each other. Exhaling memory and the newly gone. These impressions filling back, reabsorbed into light. A thousand tiny hands of thought opening as if holding doves. Freeing back what is not ours. Clumsy and fumbling out of more than what this has been.
You hook and eye my jacket for me.
The light is on. And sexy sleepiness has left, replaced by curiosity. And an hour later we are talking, still looking at this new thing. Releasing in words what we have taken in in body. You want to feed me you say in the lateness, hands with mango and chocolate. As if I am new, you hold me in fragile. You let me see you.
Your hand on my arm down the steps, we become every man, every woman. Always.
To be woman is to be defined by accommodation, the unconscious and acquiescent adherence to non-native habitats, or the unconscious swing of the pendulum of backlash that is the predictable result of any animal living in a state of perpetual adjustment, lost in translation.