(no subject)
Scenes of sex and love.
---
Dear traveller,
if you heard your voice in high octaves today, don't
worry, it was just me; with only an ocean between us, I'm sure
I was loud enough.
You and I, darling, we don't watch movies, but we should
get together and turn the TV on. I miss
the shadow-puppet theatre of our bedroom floor, our legs
like lovers knots
on the wall. You can be the
wingspan of my butterflies; intertwine our thumbs,
and we can fly. But -
kiss me here, first. Touch me
and I'll arch my back on command, bridge the differences
between our climaxes,
hold the promise of
you in the hollow of the curve of my spine.
Bruise me with the tip-toe of your fingertips down my
shoulder blades this once,
so I'll remember you've danced the lines of my collarbones
when you're miles away.
You're too many miles away, my love.
Don't call me back, my throat's too raw, I won't get past
I need you here swallow your name in gasps. I need you here
to coax me through the ringing in my ears, shake the
stars from my eyes, hold my wrists against the floor until I'm
calm enough to hear you say,
"Our silhouettes aren't tired yet, and
you're beautiful when you come."
---
Okay, this is terrible. I know that. I really do. But I can't *write* lately. I can't *focus*, I can't do *anything*. And it's driving me fucking mad.
And I changed the layout again, cos I was bored.
And damnit. Just, damnit. I need to touch you.
---
Dear traveller,
if you heard your voice in high octaves today, don't
worry, it was just me; with only an ocean between us, I'm sure
I was loud enough.
You and I, darling, we don't watch movies, but we should
get together and turn the TV on. I miss
the shadow-puppet theatre of our bedroom floor, our legs
like lovers knots
on the wall. You can be the
wingspan of my butterflies; intertwine our thumbs,
and we can fly. But -
kiss me here, first. Touch me
and I'll arch my back on command, bridge the differences
between our climaxes,
hold the promise of
you in the hollow of the curve of my spine.
Bruise me with the tip-toe of your fingertips down my
shoulder blades this once,
so I'll remember you've danced the lines of my collarbones
when you're miles away.
You're too many miles away, my love.
Don't call me back, my throat's too raw, I won't get past
I need you here swallow your name in gasps. I need you here
to coax me through the ringing in my ears, shake the
stars from my eyes, hold my wrists against the floor until I'm
calm enough to hear you say,
"Our silhouettes aren't tired yet, and
you're beautiful when you come."
---
Okay, this is terrible. I know that. I really do. But I can't *write* lately. I can't *focus*, I can't do *anything*. And it's driving me fucking mad.
And I changed the layout again, cos I was bored.
And damnit. Just, damnit. I need to touch you.