talk to me like yesterday. call me, "my love". say, "my love". you don't breath anymore. we touched on a saturday i am sure. we brushed arm against arm. hand against thigh. cheek against lips. chest against penis. lips to tongue. neck to wrist. hair to teeth. ear to eyelash. warm palpilating self. i hinder nothing. you keep nothing. i am holding nothing. empty palms. there you will find me covered in dreams. drowning in emotion. whimsical lies, i call them. and they are beautiful. i don't breath so heavy anymore. let the air out slow. and back. i don't listen so quickly. more slowly. i listen and i write down so lethargically. taking it all with a blow to the face. a blow to the back. to the wrist. to the backs of my knees. i am taking blows to my hindside. paralyzed, i am falling and lonely teardrops find refuge inside my lips. my ears- those caves! like a little doll. i come. i follow- you lead. i am blind, having now figured everything out. everything anything all things. infinitum. substance. entity.

i kiss you by caressing my lips, closed, upon the whispered hairs that grace your ears. fascinating my mouth slightly at the peak of your nose, oh how i long to taste your soul. this is communion... and your skin gives off an odor like a child in spring. you thrust your forehead to my chin and we wrestle the world away between sheets and between sleeps, waking up every hour to love anew. the roundness in your stomach leads me to a dream, and there i find your secret. it's tempting me... coming out to play, it is a sluggish monster.

out of this, i cry. i do. but these tears, i swear- they are mesmeric. they are precious like dew and they prepare my eyes for lust- this being the ceremony in which we run from before the sacrifice has been made at the altar we were just embracing and uniting upon.