The P Versus the M
He pressured my occipital toward his pelvis and I flowed into the comfort of his tone. His eyes said deadly; he told me reassured, and positively that his basis expressed a turgid warmth. But he scolded head, choking loving, touching barriers for clarity. And I appealed. Rubbing, sucking, really making him a man. Feeling him run through my body because I was easily the sand with my elevating pulse and my needing a substitute and his upper hand had reassured he was as turgid, too. Because I was only colder, fucking sick in scolding heat. But I took the it in because the heat was deemed the treat. And I had loved it released. It seemed to just defeat. I was blind and closed to audition my instinctive disbelief. Lobes broken but I wasn’t. I mean, temperance too controlled. Boarding on and boarding off. Told lines taught me by rote. And he extracted it too well. Accomplishment so loose. Personally irie. I sourced. He was stingy, too. I wanted in; him in. Coalescence obliviously. And then I shoved him out of danger; frustration. Effrontery. Don’t know where he is now but he misses using me and I cringe by association to know exactly how he means.
And then he came along. Yes, he with the capital H. Not my creator but my savior who broadly, strongly paved. Laughing loudly. Not just heard. Reciting jokes. Had to be there. Ring as soft as listening eyes. Hands aggregating hair. He scolded heat but he was alive and I put the humidity up. And I’m a city girl; my heart’s in winter. Dead-choking us, I dub. I flowed toward his pelvis, he fondled my heart up. I guessed the nude was a pulsing view. I thought that that’s what’s up. Every beat toward his sheets toward the comfort of his tone. He was a man, grown and uplifted; I grew to deal alone. But I would complement. Then I shifted. Pulsated, the mood vexed. It should be hard but I forget that I’m frozen to death.