Late nights punctuated by performance and perforation. Mouthfuls of lust, chased by lipstick red syrups. Swallowed by the coma of an oxytocin massage. Parlaying in whispers with gentle unconsciousness, hand-in-hand. Gratitude packed into lungs in an old, Egyptian technique. Perhaps the pinnacle of appreciation painted into a predicted permutation. The end of the road may have no outlet. Just the press of soft flesh, etched with stretch marks and rote routine.
10:28 a.m. - 2019-01-21
Recent entries:
A Short Complicity - 2019-02-05
Mimi's Greenhouse - 2019-01-29
Punchcard - 2019-01-29
Bio-Turncoat - 2019-01-29
Ballast And Magnification - 2019-01-21
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