In the hours between night and day, we sleep like foetuses, and yet despite our calm, there are bite marks that cover our torsos as well as stains on the sheets on which we now rest. Blood. Come. Sweat. Piss. They glue us together, as does the desire we both share to see the other struggling to breathe while on the verge of delirium. You’re the cat, and I’m the dog. So you’re more intelligent and always win, and I chase my tail and chew stones with my paws stretched out so pleased by the wonder of such a simple act. In these hours, you’re curled up with your mouth half-open and my arms wrapped around your waist. You’re a star and a portal to all that’s visceral and sublime. Within your belly and bones, there’s magic in you, and even though it hurts and you make me bleed, there’s no other way. There just isn’t. In these hours that exist neither here nor there, the time and length of the universe bind us together and yet it’s meaningless because when we’re together time has no function. Reminds me of those Sunday mornings when I was a kid. How I’d wake up before my parents and go downstairs to watch TV. Namely Sharky and George. Y’know, the crimefighting sharks that lived at the bottom of the sea? After I bite and fill you up and fall asleep with my cock still inside of you, I think of those lost Sunday mornings and in particular those old cartoons and how such quiet little bubbles kept me safe from what was happening in the outside world. There were no clocks. Nothing to disturb my bubble at all. It was just me and my dreams. Squeezing you tight while kissing your hair, I can feel my seed dripping out of you and gluing us together even more. Whispering your name, you respond by gently pinching my hand as I think of those days. Following my childish footsteps, it’s not long before darkness pulls me back again and those dreams become reality.