hellsforheroes

As I lay next to her, all I could see was her little birth mark, a stuttering brown smudge on the white rolling apathy. Rose petal nipples and maple syrup lying eyes, would a man need more. Would a man need more, than to love an orchid for the science of pilfering the fertile stench of Pandora wetting to taste a chalice, an orgy of plate tectonics gambling neither on the cum or the point, just maybe throwing away money to buy a chance, a shot at being dead and well enough. Dice substituting for lovers pleurisy on a three pack a day nakedness, I was breathing, didnt know it, my eyes were open, didnt know it, I was making, wouldnt have bet on it. Unless I felt the sweat covering my shivered back, arched, hers akin, arched, and retrofit with wings of punching bumblebees. But I was the stinger, the birthday suit hoping to be no mantis to babies, no widower. All gibberish, all a pariah, a Mephistopheles to the crack pipe pledge of allegiance, sex overdrawn like the Colorado river, my hopes, a grand canyon, quite a struggling work of nature, a deft illusion of fate, and timing. I would have loved the Painted Desert, so much more, her heart petrified, wood no longer. I would settle, for wood to settle, and burn a grievous anthem on a country guitar funeral pyre orgasm. So far beyond the rising sun, next to her collection plate, I did all I could as I came and wentinside, herwho was she, her mouth worked mellifluously, like a secret song that reminds my heart to beat, dip, dip, and swing them back, flashing like silver, swift as the wild goose flies, dip, dip, and swingif that meant anything, but eyes were closed, and moans a penchant for glee, If I was coming, she wanted, if she was coming, when wasnt she coming. Why werent we all coming into something like this, succubus of telemetrya man eating woman, as I lay next to my holy stony medusa, I could only think god bless and save us all.