I am not really sure what I am supposed to put in these things. But I will put what I want. If you dont want to read it then dont. It will be a collection of random thoughts, I love to write so at times, will be highly stylized, and extreamly graphic, if you are bothered, not my fault.................
Right now, I sit in the hush, I can hear the sound of the heater in the back ground, that rush of hissig air that streams thru the old vents in this ancient house. Sometimes the pipes will rattle, that slow vibration that comes from absolutly nothing, just every once in a while, making you seem to jolt and look around, wondering what it is till it fully registers.
This is one of those evenings, that I would love to be with someone, arms, wrapped around me, feeling the hardness of a mans fingers pulling thru the thick chaos of my hair. I would know the heated tug every time his fingers tunneled thru, the way it would pull on the turf of mys calp and seem to me, to send a jolt that would filter thru into the heated spill of my blood, running like quicksilver thru my veins.
Every breath that was taken, something that was pulled from my soul, something dark, filled with the need as the pumping of my heart in my breast seemed to thunder, to take over every sound but the rasping touch of his hands. I could know that my only focus was that, consumed by the need to know, to express the flame that licks at the heated core of my soul, that lowest , blackest velvet in my belly, the one that leaps just from knowing he is near.
My blood moving slower, sluggish in my veins as it thickens, molten, like someone was replacing that crimson with molten gold, and it was filling every inch of me. A prickling wave spreading over my body, that rush to the surface of my skin, where every inch of my flesh becomes so hyper away that I can even feel the push of the air against me, fabric from my clothing seems near painful as it touches the plush of my skin.
Dark brown eyes, smoked, hooded behind that vein of spiked ink, even without makeup, they give an exotic slant to the darkened orbs. There is a faint blush that fills the hallows of my cheeks, that warm rush in my skin, spreading like a wildfire out of control. Inarticulate sounds spilling from the swan like pale of my throat, cast into the air as I was cast into this abyss of need and want, left with naught to anchor me to the world.
Yes, I want to feel this, instead. I open my eyes, and I hear the rush of the heat from the vent, the pipes are silent again, and I am alone.
In the quiet.
In the dark.
