She is the type who likes to take it slow. She wants to look at you first. Look at you in the eye, and into your soul. By looking back at her, you tell her that you are ready, ready to take her whole, not all in one bite, but slowly, so that she will feel every nerve ending on her body; and because this is a ritual that requires the active play of both bodies, you give in. Her eyes make me blush. Her eyes linger all over my face, before she rests her hands on my shoulders. Then, I lean towards her lips, moving them as close to mine as I can. Her breathe moves into mine, as we close our eyes, as we trust each other, as we confess of our selves. She prays. I caress her soft hair as I pull her chest towards mine, and it is close enough that we become one. One in thought, one in body. She opens her eyes and dumps her lips onto mine. A kiss is something of a mystery in how it can cloud out the rest of your world when it is done right. She kisses me, letting herself go as she gets into me, and I get into her. And we are, at this moment, separated from our bodies, our spirits have been let free by willful volition. We are free to roam each other’s bodies, and it takes a while before we can get back to our own.
She is now in my head and I… I can’t seem to find the right place to feel myself because I am all over the place, in her shorts, in her bra, in her hair, in her legs. We lose ourselves in each other. She peels open her heart and lets me in. I feel… I feel overwhelmed by her generosity, her magnanimity to let me flow through her veins, into her very blood and cells. The way she makes me feel, I will consume her. I feel myself drowning in her passion, drowning in a deep well of her drug, addicted. She is seeping my way into my veins, making me burn alive with insanity, with madness. We are both mad, we have both become mad. And we are both to blame for this madness that has infected us.
We need no cure, because this is the kind of madness that heals. The kind of madness that mends, the kind of madness that seals. In this little frenzy of ours, we find a kind of solace, a middle ground. It is only with her that I know what it means to thirst, and what it means to satisfy. It is only with her that I know what it means to matter and what it means to find this thing that matters, this thing that keeps the world spinning, this thing that has become of us. It is only with her that I have known grace. I want more and more. I wonder if she can be my messiah, and save me from this plain world, so that we find our own kind of heaven.
We riot, against each other, against this reality of the eventuality of it all. And now, I hate her, because she stops…