Love like theirs was a mouthful of stones. Swallowed, a knife through the ribs - hard and deep inside her, sinking deeper all the time. A merciless idea to live with and still fall in love anyway.
Beautiful.
Love
Kink and fuck are always experiential. Artists and lovers are like mystics, seeing through sensation and finding in it the symbols and metaphors for experiences that cannot be put into words, using words to simulate them, reverse engineering sensation. I create because I cannot touch, I touch when I create. Or some pale approximation, some shadow, a whisper of a hope in a gale of wind.
Enough…
yes, but do you love it Enough…
Such a slender question. Beguiling…I arrived in love with my heart pounding, vision puddled into blue light. I try to move forward carefully, closing space, alive with trepidation. Fear, real fear, trembling and tumbling around inside me with desire. I want it to be dark and bright at once, softness and violence. I want the bone rattle of chain on a bed frame, the lock on a door...