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Osmosis
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Osmosis In wilderness is the preservation of the world. - Thoreau ---------- She set a trap for the animals that resided in her skull. Stars pulsated in her naked soul, dancing peacock blue. He thought about how her hands would cup him gently, a touch like sawdust upon his hair. Falling, powdery, smelling of destruction and creation. She smiled like heirloom tomatoes, pancakes at the church, and the warm cement walkway at the<b> library. </font></b>She was the shore of Lake Superior. He wanted to go to the water's edge, to take the whole thing into his mouth, to swallow it in big, needy gulps. He wanted everything inside of him - the ocean, Lake Superior, the skyscrapers of Chicago, tulips, pigeons, park benches and lavender coffee cups. He planned out with his breath and his blood course, how he would consume in her the wind, the night, the cement, the tomatoes, and that church. He wanted her. She was his. His words rendered her, like fat. His prose was full of charity, full of pity, yielding. The yellow house lay gaudy in the middle of the block, door unlocked and waiting for her to sweep the porch. The yellow house with the long driveway, and the bike leaning on the porch. The yellow house with the black mailbox and two shiny numbers like jewelry for the post office. She had no idea what color his house was, but she knew it was yellow. She listened to him moaning on the phone. Her chest tightened, her eyes dilated. Moaning with her, into her. Filling her with his moans. Her body split in two and erupted with a rainstorm of butterflies and cicadas. They rose up and collapsed around her as he came. She saw his body, the contours like winds. She was full, he filled her up with his moans and his cries. The cicadas blew against the windowpane, a hard soft sound. Pervasive as a topographical map depicting places that only existed elsewhere, her flesh felt under his fingertips copious. He touched her endlessly replenishing vertebrae. He thought of when he was younger, and how he moaned in his sleep as his bones expanded. He thought of flailing through his dreaming. He smelled her skin, from miles and miles away. She listened to him and felt her cells consuming his cells. His cells, absorbing. Defecting. Consuming. Membranes, passageways like salt marshes. Coming and going. Saline. Consuming, baby...baby...baby... the whole thing swallowed up by time and illicit words. She wanted to say more. He was a snowflake, melting into her. He was a raindrop, sliding down the windowpane. He was a cicada, throwing out his wings and shedding a thorax hush. He ate her pussy till tears slide down her cheeks and she gasped. He took her breath and squeezed her throat till she felt the flaming arrows of Saint Theresa pierce her liver. She could hear him smiling as his cock spurted. Grunting. Giving her saline and breaking down her cells with his words. Defecting, absorbing, merging. His words a flow, the tides pulling the silt and the rounded stones, the grasses dancing under the skin of the wet. A salt marsh. Her cells consumed. Her cells consuming. Her skin smelled like her pussy, a soft hard smell. ---- Image: "Sex in Water" by GetFrank       |
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Thank you, that is very sweet. Please feel free to stop by any time. I really appreciate any feedback. MT
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Wow, so many secrets revealed on this one post.. Stephen -Bargaining tools, going forward
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Dear Stephen, So glad you enjoyed this latest effort. A cicada is a kind of insect that flies in swarms and has a rather unpleasant rasping sound when it moves. MT Stephen -plus I swear he comes into work to enjoy the A/C and microwave..don't see anything else. Douche..don't you know we're in a recession!
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Dear Crump, Yes, that is the only sort of sex I want/crave - I try to think how to go about it and to improve my communication skills and self awareness as an ongoing project towards the best possible me, which of course will result in the best possible two-as-one. MT
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Maybe you feel that way...I have made a half dozen revisions and updates since I first posted this. And I wish the picture was of two people in a river or a salt marsh. You see? Not flawless, but I do my best. Thank you! MT
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Wow.!..now I'm beginning to catch on..don't know what a cicada is but damn, I liked the rest of it! Stephen So glad you enjoyed this latest effort. A cicada is a kind of insect that flies in swarms and has a rather unpleasant rasping sound when it moves. MT
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Yes, and Annie we know that's how passion moves, do we not? MT
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As are you. As is the man who inspired it. Thank you as always for your visits. Did you and Big T. do a threesome with me again? I caught the actual threesome - and had some idea of who that might be - but then again I have been wrong before. Best, MT
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i like your imagery. how you take form and turn it ethereal. there-not there... almost there. She saw his body, the contours like winds. Pervasive as a topographical map depicting places that only existed elsewhere, great for osmosis! what is your attachment to sawdust by the way? Glad you enjoyed!
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Dear Dana, I am so glad you could relate to this. I feel I am successful when other people have that sort of click-buzz "it's me" gut response. MT
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Wonderful, it is exciting to read you in case i havent said that before. What a laugh i had with... "She had no idea what color his house was, but she knew it was yellow." Amazing how an assertion can be so true and yet so evocative... Thank you i really enjoyed this post (  )MT
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Have I said that whenever I see your picture I get a throbbing ache and I long to know what the rest of you looks like? And, now, I think of your weakness for scent and taste, and I wonder too how you smell and what your flavors are. MT
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Thank you dear!! Glad you enjoyed. MT
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breathlessly incredible...  MT
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Wow.!..now I'm beginning to catch on..don't know what a cicada is but damn, I liked the rest of it! Stephen
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7/3/2010 5:49 am |
i like your imagery. how you take form and turn it ethereal. there-not there... almost there. She saw his body, the contours like winds. Pervasive as a topographical map depicting places that only existed elsewhere, great for osmosis! what is your attachment to sawdust by the way? [post 2856614] This is the really small writing... in bold how 'bout RAINBOW colors?
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Wonderful, it is exciting to read you in case i havent said that before. What a laugh i had with... "She had no idea what color his house was, but she knew it was yellow." Amazing how an assertion can be so true and yet so evocative... Thank you i really enjoyed this post ( )
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breathlessly incredible...
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