v u l v a l i c i o u s
I am imagining someone again, and I'd like to know what she tastes like--sweet? Sour? Salty?
Don't you want somebody to love? Don't you need somebody to love? Wouldn't you love somebody to love? You better find somebody to love...love.
Right now I am awash in a sea of wanting. There is music from above and music from below, all of it crowding my world and my mind, making me rationalize writing instead of doing the work that awaits me.
I want somebody--not so much to love as to fuck, not so much to fuck as to devour. It is almost as though the word of the day is ravenous.
I want every piece of you in my mouth, in bursts and fits and spasms. Individually sucked and bitten and nibbled and licked; anything I can do, I will.
If I knew who you were and I knew what you tasted like, I'd be able to taste you right now. But are you sweet/sour/salty? Do you taste like oranges and limes, your citrus-sweet tickling my nose? Are you hot peppers--the kind that burn slowly at first and then explode into a tempting fire of heat and tingle--singeing my throat as I bite into you?
Can you really taste as good as I imagine?
And can I have you tonight?
You feed my Cunt, and I'll feed yours.