Stuff I write

Time eats every chance

January 23/July 3, 2024. 1:00 PM

Soft clamour, caused by the overflowing release of your sweet creek, exhaled by the depths of the robust mountains that brimmed with thick forest on your chest. Oh, sweet beating of your heart under my palms.

Your chest, warm water under my nipples, caressing every inch with every motion.

The memories on my skin urge me to go back, to rip the walls of reality and feel your skin under mine once again.

I want to crawl back in time, I'll grab myself with my teeth if I have to. I'll break my nails crawling back through the folds of reality and time, just for one of your sweetest kisses.

The dammed sounds surrounding me make me insane, I want back my peace. I deeply hate these screams and the noise my heart makes.

For what good is my current reality if this life does not contain you in it.

I want but a simple thing in this existence, to be yours. To go back in time or dimensions and be at least the pencils you used to draw the most beautiful art I've ever seen.

To be every single one of your pencils, your sketchbooks, a piece of paper ripped from somewhere to sketch something new, the music you listen to, your pillow, bed and clothes, the air around you and the perfume you wear, the cars you drive so I would never break.

I want to be yours. Hold you dearly and never let you hurt.

You're a big man and oh, so, very strong. But please let me take care of you, please let me be yours, at least the sweaters you wear so I can hold you close and let you know you're safe in the wool of my soul.