It was then I felt it, the raw distillation of fear. Not in the act of actual coming, but in the shade between realisation of the inevitable and the act. She rose beneath absorbing the action and sharing the release. For me there was not one, but a mechanical drive and arms around her, holding the back to keep her warm and secure in her most vulnerable state. A veneer of shit sat in the crease of my thumb, I wiped on the bed covers. She sank back and replied with a hold. Vaguely penetrating the outer layer as I wish to shrink up and die, rather than not feel again the ecstacy she exudes. The rippling remoteness of times formerly experienced, never directly now. We’re a thick wall of hate, raging at tenderness wishing that it’s power would break us into bits.
RawIn Uncategorized on 17 July, 2011 at 14:37