I like the way the words sound when they're moving between her lips. There is a quite rhythm in the way they buzz between the muscle and soft feather-filled flesh. I'd like to think all energy revolves this way, like a melodic hum, separating two individual keys of flesh. These notes are carnal and alive, like small flower petals that prefer to mix and mesh into pollinated lavish bloom.
I am not to lead you ashtray from my initial thought, tender reader, hopeless writer. I just ponder upon how perfect her lips kiss and the perpetual thoughts that pour over like milk and silk.
I am writing in a string of love letters tied by the end of this vacant finger fitted for bands and rings. I think I'd like to tie her on, try her on. We've got so much left to look forward to, and all our world is hanging by the end of this string.
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