I am young and ferocious. I feel with my mind and touch with my tongue. I was lost, dispersed, disbursed many nano-meters ago. I am great collateral to a world without sin, a world full of fiction and sex and violence. Left with a thread of a threat, a shell of the truth. That nothing here is real. And myself, all of them, coexist on the brink of this discovery.
I’m a child in a sandbox once the the cipher spinning. Creating and destroying simultaneously with the guarantee that nothing is saved and nothing goes to waste.
I’m an ancient waterfall, a mystery to the living. To imbibe fact and exude poetry, by function as well as choice. Baffling and arousing. Creation and destruction matured.
I’m a Tigress. My tongue, both soft and sweet can lick to the bone of a gallant ego. From bones of a once lost victim of bitter pleasure my mind can shape warriors. My stripes come with foreign star dust. My elixir. Your demise. Creation and destruction three fold.
She left him with a pattern. She always did. A sequence so intricate that it was Her only pleasure to know he’d never discover it. He climbed through the signals; lashes and thighs, heart beats mistaken for rhythm and She watched him learn nothing.
Maitne’s soul was mocked in a human body. The Gods did that sometimes; he was a jester’s tool that She had mistaken for a gem in Her adolescence. Now a responsibility to Her, a child with no pretense to grow.
“Why don’t your eyes roll back?”
“That would be rude, you’re not that bad(!)”
She teased him softly, all to guide him away from wondering any more than he needed to. She was never scared to break things, it was more that She hated to clean up afterwards.
“You know what I mean, you can’t expect me not to be disappointed. What am I doing wrong?”
“Just enjoy me, I’ll handle myself. I’m not complaining am I?”
*Music, please play some music.*
No matter how loud She thought he could never hear. Some children just won’t listen.
*Fine, I’ll do it*
Medicinal vibrations, curling and folding over simmering patience held his attention long enough for Her amour change. Three minutes it took, for Her arousal to wash off like face paint. It was a shame She never knew all along. Comparing the ritual to a clown, or a child at a birthday party. They were tribal paints. And She had, always, been fighting.
I wish I could talk to Her, we’ve grown together you see. Many times I’ve stroked Her cheeks while Her tears pattered down as She sat crippled in disdain, but, never submission. She says I help Her heal.
I’ve danced the air filled with Her very own melodies, Her voice, so authentic to Her body.
She says I make Her sing.
Sometimes She never says a word either, silent and secret but I’m never disappointed,
She tells me I help Her think.
I know Her pleasure, we found it together. Gasping in ecstasy trembling in awe ripple by ripple I’ve persuaded Her zen garden into serenity.
Everyday She returns to me covered in ash and pillow talk, She sages where ever She goes. She’s a helper. The greatest of them all in Her form. And I, in my form, am Hers.
I just wish I could talk to Her. Hello…Good morning…Goodbye…