In me.

Fucked in the night, under a roll down blackout – face recognition disabled


but still


your arms.



Not so romantic as ‘I’ve been holding for years’ – but –


Tissues moist and secreting, the whole wagon of life complexifying to a wet ecstasy.



Years of the most subtle, yet obvious, closure


Dropping away with a desperate clawing for flesh and tempo.


Fucking, primal – pinned to the present through a messy and seductive biology,


Fucking, primal – finally, consensus of the fibers of my new pleasure hole


Fucking, primal – not so much lost in you, but backing into oblivion.



I claim my new superpower as a crazy fucking power bottom.


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