Curvilinear

We start, you and I, facing each other. Slowly, I reach for your face, touching you slightly, my fingers red-hot, tracing sensually painful lines down the nape of your neck. My finger tips burn their way between your breasts pausing over your heart. I lean forward to kiss you, at the same instant plunging my hand forward through you, to grip your beating flesh, curling elongated fingers into a vice, both stern and forceful.

You gasp, your breath, your heart in my grip. We rise then, me in the lead, you unbidden, pulled by my grasp on your existence. Drifting, you and I, within the curvilinear vulva of space, my free hand rises to burn a path along your thigh, stopping above the essence of your reality.

I pause, our eyes locked, eons echoing between the longing beat of your pulse, before slipping my free hand into you, up into the tan t’ien that molds your Universe. You are completely mine.

We change. Folding in upon ourselves, bones tearing, fleshing healing itself with the energy of my breath–for I will not let you flee now! The things we become, your heart still beating at my discretion. Things of unreality, things that bite and flow, things that scratch and maim, things that discard sanity as if sanity could dissolve with bitter aqueousness.

Howling, we shift, phases locking, pleasure and pain mounting in manifolds of quintessence. I scream my self into you.

Your heart, in the final moment of entropic dissonance, beneath my etheric grasp, fades to a point, winking to oblivion.

You, with a final, sobbing gasp, shudder to a halt, formulae fading from your skin as I gently kiss your forehead and close the door behind me.

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~ by liberdementia on March 1, 2009.

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