Pulse of a thought. It sips on my lips. It lies on its back and opens up a portal into new worlds. let me lick your tongue. Offer myself up to a new breed of torture and realise I have always wanted to stay. It stains but rubs off easily. This flesh.
Appease me. Indulge in my bulgeoning. Consumate light heartedly. unscrupulous victor. Solemnly at ease with the rest of who I want to be. Lick the tip. Fret the nuisance. And like that we are home.
