The trembling walls of pink flesh. Flowers that look like sex organs. Flowers that eat sex organs. Picked clean out, the throbbing nature, of a darkly act. Behind closed doors, beyond the prying eyes of strangers, the things that are to be done. They tickle and sting. Fantastically, they sing, of all things wondrous. The enlargement of throats, the hardening of bones. Bone Daddy they call me. Swollen and massive, hungry for, her. A ring of candles, the scent of vanilla hanging heavy. Hips and lips, handfuls of hair and a nude body before the window. Pulsating veins, another one appears from behind, thirsty for what’s to follow. Two nude bodies in full view of the shadows and animals gathered outside. Fingers spreading, teeth biting. She’s in your arms, she’s under your control, but really it’s she who controls you. She knows what you are, and how to get you off. She’s a star lover, with burning eyes that burn away all your fears. The way she strips you down, the way she gets under your skin. Sex is violent. Against the wall, upon the floor. Like snakes in the grass, like spiders, fearful and feared. Grab her, place your thumb upon her tongue and your hips against hers. Place your signature, between her legs. The future, the past. Dripping, flowing. Watching as she moves beyond the realms of the mundane, everything around you dissolves. The pointless laws of gravity, the terrible rules of social interaction. All the superfluous things you have no need of. Bathed in moonlight, she holds the seasons in the palm of her hand. Upon her tongue, the taste of summer, in her eyes, autumn leaves blowing in the wind. Spring in her heart, and winter her temper. The flames that dance in the darkened moments of discovery. The secrets that sigh upon her belly. She’s monolithic, she’s nature. She’s mother and lover, the eater of wasted days, the queen of dreams. Visceral, lucid. Two bodies, against the world. Hearts and hands, thighs and seed. Entwined. Cocooned.
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