sext

this doesn’t belong here and it’s not poetic.. it’s personal and it hurts. i wanted to write you a page out of my life but i get nostalgic around this time and i remembered this from my past and so i want to leave this here before i forget, so it may feed my soul and warm my bones when i’m old.

i love the moments when i lie down in his lap and listen to his ridiculous conversation. once he told me that there is heartbeat in my fingertips as he kissed my fingers. we always seem to have tumbled into a world of half awake and half asleep and i love to just listen to him rambling on and on about things which make no sense, but at the same time make a whole lot of sense.

there is a certain tenderness when he holds me. and i feel anything but beautiful when i am in his arms and i feel as tho my heart is remembering and humming a sweet sweet song…. i am entranced every time as his warm throbbing skin makes way into mine. sex is beautiful with him. he taught me how to get choked. the first time he did it, my throat had a beautiful bruise and my windpipe fucking hurt, but i enjoyed the sex.  and the other day, we made a video of us fucking, and he wore his glasses and at that time i didn’t think of anything, but later i was watching the video we made and man, he looked gorgeous with his glasses on and the whole sex act looked so classy. and i loved the way my breasts swung when i was riding him.

i would have felt that my skin and i were out of sync and that i was living a nightmare. but things have worked out. it worked out for both of us. we became oasis for each other and we rescued each other from a nightmare called life. sometimes you want to run away from yourself and your skin and then you hit a wall and you sort of stumble into someone’s arms and you cry out rescue me, please help me and not let me be hurt and then you realize the other person is also hanging on to you and shouting out the same. and then, sometimes, the sun sets at a perfect angle and lights up the sky the way i light up when i see him. sometimes, all i need is a buttered toast and eggs cooked over-easy and i sit and sigh and sigh and sigh and snuggle into his arms a little bit closer and whisper as if to remind myself that this is home to me. sometimes that’s all you need.

 

novembers are hard

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