Tongues of steam twist and crawl down my body,
Lapping at the gathering wetness between my pillowy thighs.
Hot watery fingers stroke and caress all of the parts I forgot to love yesterday,
And wash away the grief laying incarnate upon my tender flesh.
These moments between time are so fleeting and ethereal.
Almost not of this world,
But not out of it either.
Though, my skin never forgets
The ghostly caresses and ectoplasmic digits that cross dimensions and invade my body,
That I sense without a single touch on this limited physical plane.
I feel you tongue the parts of me that fold inwards, out of their sight, but fully within yours.
You see me when I can’t. When no one else does. You always see me.
You touch me when my fingers tingle from a numbness spreading like gauzy spiderwebs across a vacant attic.
Your touch is my own, from the inside out, from the outside in.
No one touches me like I do.
Make me your alabaster slave.
Mould me to your whims and desires,
And craze my skin with your longing.
Cover me in whimpers, ragged breathing and cum,
As I unfurl my stone-hard limbs before you.
There are parts of me warmer than my skin,
But you have to be willing to finger my buttery depths to find them.
I feel sweet this morning,
Like damp candy floss.
Making my fingers sticky,
And my teeth hum.
Tendrils of sleep creep and curl up my legs,
Pulling me back into my bed,
And into my sleepy little head,
Where visions of Bowie’s Labyrinthine bulge dangle and jangle before my star-crossed eyes.
Why do I always have to wake up?
I miss my underwater dream world, where everything is always wet and warm.
But here I am… trying to get dressed,
Trying to detach from my other reality that I can scarcely remember,
But feel in every pore of my bones.
Today will feel long. Like the journey to the Goblin King’s castle… if it were underwater,
Where everything is in slo-mo and silent…ish.
This reality is too fast and loud for me right now. Shit.