i see an empty room, candles making a weak light against the pressing shadows. the pressing figures. the skin and the sweat, the connection of light and dark. are we cosmic? are we bigger than worlds?
five a.m., too late to be early and we have nowhere to go. once-hot, the water is now tepid, dripping down and away, leaving only what will become an easy, beautiful sleep.
there is a path we all must follow. as my hands find their place along your back, holding your sides, fingers walking up your delicious flesh, i know that i have found mine.
imperfection.
22:43 | Nov. 24, 2009