I picture you naked.

© Photo by Olivia Basile on Unsplash

…Picture you naked sat on an old blue leather car seat from a Rover P5 -relaxed, your body draped over, head flopped back, your legs — languid — spread wide…muscles defined, the ligaments taunt; the waterfall cascades.

The scent of worn leather mingles with the heavy dampness of the air, the patina: the hairline scratches and sun-bleached colours contrasted against the marble sheen — the smoothness of your skin. Your penis: soft…drooped…as one gets lost in contemplations of the skies over the Utah plains… electricity flies, thoughts advance at the speed of light, clouds rapidly garnering…heavy and grey — poised about to release…. it pours.

Eyes staring up at a worn-out ceiling, the paint: fleshy curd skin hanging, peeled, flaked, revealing the cement underneath, patterns: sun-baked cracks, the colours of faded blues, green, turquoise with orange-tinged edges and splurges of red — randomly scattered on the walls — washed out fragmented murals, hinting at their former lustrous glory…The floor: faded creams, greys and whites, fractured, potted and dusty — upon which you lay your naked soiled feet…to kiss and to worship, lie still let me mould you with my tongue, let me see you through painterly eyes, let me absorb the scent and essence of you…you captured in my gaze.

Spiders crawl across the floor.

The silence is beautiful, the wind: a gentle breathe, my tongue: to caress your skin, static: electricity flies, sounds oscillate, steel: to taste, for the alcohol to sip through the soft membrane of the brain: let me be, let me take flight in the thoughts of you.

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