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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