domestika
I'm going to start this off with a literal statement, the euphemism of which is so utterly contrary to the content of what follows: My cat got into the chili powder.
I don't know why, but he came into my room licking and licking and licking and his nose is this fervent red-orange color. I wiped his nose with my hand and inhaled. Chili powder. My cat will eat anything.
I used to be a lot like my cat. I still am in some respects.
Ode to sexual intensity: where have you gone?
I used to pounce and prowl. I used to lick and purr. I made my home in the beds of others. I don't anymore. Or at least not lately. This may or may not have something to do with the lack of illicit and controlled substances in my life - this may or may not have something to do with my recent experiences with love and in-love and all those permutations. I think I can't handle breaking hearts anymore because my own heart is perpetually broken and hopeful.
Oh don't worry. It's not all bad. I'm the most content I've been in a long time. I like being alone, watching film after film, sending packages, discovering music, writing and calling to remind others how important they are to me. I have energy to give others. I like that.
But I wonder what's happened to the sexual creature I was - I miss writing about trysts and the way scent and sensation completely overwhelm your corporeality.
My guess is that all that will come flooding back when it's time.
I don't know why, but he came into my room licking and licking and licking and his nose is this fervent red-orange color. I wiped his nose with my hand and inhaled. Chili powder. My cat will eat anything.
I used to be a lot like my cat. I still am in some respects.
Ode to sexual intensity: where have you gone?
I used to pounce and prowl. I used to lick and purr. I made my home in the beds of others. I don't anymore. Or at least not lately. This may or may not have something to do with the lack of illicit and controlled substances in my life - this may or may not have something to do with my recent experiences with love and in-love and all those permutations. I think I can't handle breaking hearts anymore because my own heart is perpetually broken and hopeful.
Oh don't worry. It's not all bad. I'm the most content I've been in a long time. I like being alone, watching film after film, sending packages, discovering music, writing and calling to remind others how important they are to me. I have energy to give others. I like that.
But I wonder what's happened to the sexual creature I was - I miss writing about trysts and the way scent and sensation completely overwhelm your corporeality.
My guess is that all that will come flooding back when it's time.