sicpowered

wine spilling out my mouth, through her lips, dripping from my chin staining my beard red. soft hands over pale skin. her forehead presses into the metal bed-frame, my raised voice echoes through the empty house. passions break furniture, writhing tangle of limbs and fitful sleep, too empowered with sexual adrenalin to make more than an hour's rest. i didn't shower, letting the smell stay with me. long sleepy day, today.

no more argh, maybe not for awhile. maybe not ever again. hagakure, everyday may be the last, and so it is for these wonderful encounters. so one must be mindful to live the moment as full as can be. one may find some peace from this, or not. still i lust over the horizon, still i'm always mindful of who may be next to taste. i'm not anything but comfortable in her eyes. these days i find it easier to be quiet, less chatter, searching for the right thing to not say.

still very tired at the moment, witness the vague stream of consciousness. my eyes are slits, black and hinting at blue, my movements at once clumsy and inaccurate. i am a danger to myself this tired, yet ready to push on to another day without sleep, willing to drive it out of me, all the waking thoughts, all the consciousness, taking the suffering of the body into the joy of the mind, the quiet of the spirit, the dark of my heart. yes it's dark and quiet, feels good and it hurts. welcome to my little world.

i can still taste her on my hands