His hair is bright and golden his face soft and as delicate as a plucked wildflower, We meshed and sat too close our hands met words streamed through our eyes my hand dissolved into his tounge and shortly after his into mine. Only to awake still feeling the grainy sand paper residue of sugar along the lining of my teeth..
Traveling far,far away messages written on battery boxes trains slashing by as a knife would on gentle warm flesh, False love found in a train cart going anywhere. Finding this familiar place in the dark cluttered place only to find love, he sat there dark held tight by the shadows a secret well kept,but fow how long? Our eyes met and I knew this was more real than any other state of being I had ever imagined. Fast flashing dark embrace our lips meet but only after a spider like ritual dance of cheeks meshing and lips clashing to create a pure stream line of energy and completeness. This soft sweet prince not so much for the taking but more for the gaze and dream-like state he so easily enduces.
Shooting Star.
Lying down barely recognizing your face,telling you things you hadn’t heard since you were 10. I miss you
