.hotness.

things just got a little tougher...
because blowing a kiss
is like throwing a fist;
and we don't stop until
one of us is
bloody,
bruised,
fucked,
or all three.
we're no longer shooting
from the hips,
but firing downrange
from the mouth,
taking every precaution...
every precaution
not to have a complete misfire of emotion.
salivary-like projectiles
always exchanging blows...
words stop.
breathing pauses.
breathing pauses.
breathing resumes... heavily.
and we are holding eachother
now, like we've never held
security blankets
resembling the ones crumpled
at the foot end of the bed.
socks in a pile next to the door,
shoes not far;
shirts slung from mirrors
and thumbtacks on the walls,
and pants, showing their innards,
commiserating on the rug,
underwear lost in the mixture
of bodies and moans...
we're floating, rolling,
trying to combine ourselves
with one another's skin.
we're trying...
we're trying.
we're trying.