When I settled behind my computer I wanted to write a story too starched to accommodate sex that bordered on phenomenal.
I was walking back to work from lunch when you came to mind, knocking the base off my stomach so all my insides fell down at my feet in a sudden swoop, and my breath caught, broke and toppled down onto my innards, littered on the tarred road. I do not know what that meant.
I started a story not uptight enough so the smell of sweat in your pubic hair and anus quite neglected at every bath wafted in and seeped into my chaste story.
The character I developed took on your features, and ran his new found hands up my thigh, dragging me in too, and so it was you and I, stuck in a semi-stiff story, your hand frozen on my flesh, as my crotch started to grow a heart. I do not know what that meant.
When I settled behind this computer, I intended to exorcise you, silent lover, holding my naked body too tight, kissing me too hard, too long…flinging all unspoken words into erratic actions, that made things uncomfortably new.
I was readying myself for the lonely I saw coming when you sprung from somewhere and hardened my nipples on a hot afternoon while I sat in the sun, reading a book too formal to be the cause. I do not know what that meant.
I started this story on an account of a million words, till you crept in with your contagious silence, allowing only whispered vulgarities nearly unintelligible, echoed moans and breaths in crescendo…emptying my tale of pious vocabulary.
I paused here to pray. This much want, this much violent what?…tell me what it means…