(no subject)
Our two mouths meet in wet black. My hair, betraying sweat, is wrapped around three of your thick fingers in a knot at the base of my neck. I am dreams of the fisherman's wife, every soft fleshy part of me utilized, sweetly and resolutely, by your body. So this is fucking. I can feel my thoughts converting to the animal, my wants being reduced to sounds. And my body, usually an instrument for ambulation, a transportation mechanism for my brain, is now a wild and primal thing, a weed greedily sucking up the sunlight. I churn. Inside the sweet syrup of my cunt is a nest of hornets. Your fingers are now thick with it. You push me back down on the bed and I press my thighs up against your chest, a perfect symbiosis. It's here that I always think of religious ecstasy, of the deepest recesses of prayer. I am helpless beneath you and you are stripping, splintering, tearing me in two halves. If I had a God right now, it would be you.