random thoughts
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Your tongue is the starring feature in a scene played across my mind while my hand vibrates lips and I shake with the remembrance of orgasms past and yet to cum Photo by William Stitt on Unsplash
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I admit it. I fucked up. Caught between awake and dreaming, I thought I could control it. I thought it would be easy since in the past, when the buzzer sounded, I always woke up. But this time, I lay immobilized listening to the incessent screech threating me with ecstasy Dreaming and remembering. Smooth, heat,
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I want to be your smile in the morning I want to be your late night I want to be your question and answer I want to be your horizon I want to be your last kiss I want to be your I can’t wait to tell you I want to be your wrap
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A mirror reflecting no judgement Your silence Non response Letting me say anything Be anything Open No judgement No response I prattle on and on While you sit Silent I don’t bother with your thoughts Only mine
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It had never been phrased to her like that before. That the act of creating a story for someone was creating a universe. An act more intimate than sharing physical space. Was she reckless with her gifts? Or was her gift to create infinite galaxies for those who occupied her nebula for a period of
Wandering & Wondering 