Dawn cracks through the leaves as if it were our last one. Two bodies glued in the scent of stale lust. Your smooth skin returning from its journey into flesh; to the depths of my lewdness and transgression.
Eyes closed, our hands guess instead of feeling and the certainty of our presence, both of us, for us overwhelms the blurring nightmares into the dark recesses of our whirling minds.
This knows no end; it takes no prisoners, we may only feel it's over when we look back from the doorway of life if our exit is not too hasty. We might even take this with us into the yonder. Looking at each other, the sudden blush brought by the fresh memories of hazy nights, our eyes suddenly turn the other way; feigned embarrassment on instincts we hold so dear. The game of courting, our entire lovecraft heralded by the torn sheets; our weapons sore, arms weak after wielding them and our souls emptied, gasping for fresh air; so barren is this oasis we created for the countless skirmishes we always win; so coarse each particle of non existent sand; so dry our tongues as they vacillate out of their merging.
Satiation is short lived in the eternal quest and as we reach it, its substance so ephemeral, craving and yearning become the aftertaste. These gigantic waves we're doomed to drown into; no sooner do we manage to emerge from one than the next; larger and more engulfing, sweeps away all hopes of survival. We are but servants of these emotions, we cater to them with resigned hopelessness and as we savor the left overs of our last feast I wonder weather we own this smooth edged mirage or whether it zealously owns us.
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