Synchronize

[ocean_fever_fae]

I'm slowly learning how to prioritize the lines between mental and physical. I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that sex is not a destruction of self and that I don't have to cry when I kiss you. I used to be at my most vulnerable when your dick was in my throat and your hands traveled to places on my body that I was afraid to touch when the lights grew dim. But I open my mouth and I see this probing jaw and these canine teeth and I realize that I have options. I can watch the sun rise outside my window and appreciate your fingers on my spine at the same time.

I want to see you naked beyond the boundaries of these walls; these four-poster beds and silent sheets that we have grown accustomed to through a sexually and artistically imprisoned society are making me tired. I want to have sex with you in a tree while I smear my lipstick on the branches and tangle leaves in your hair. I want to watch you masturbate to pseudo-romantic scenes in silent films while I quote famous British authors with schizophrenic mothers. I want to know what the curve of your pelvis looks like in the reflection of the ocean. I would dig my nails into your back and write poetry on the seashells using your blood. I want you to seduce me by quoting sentences from my favorite novels, and when you empty your mouth of those, I want you to start singing your favorite songs when your head is buried between my thighs.

I want you to be my emotionally charged and intellectually stimulated orgasm. We can spend hours finding shapes in the clouds and then make love underneath the one that looks like God's middle finger. We shall discover religion between the vowels that we suck through each other's tongues.

We will start a fucking revolution.