 Close the gate. How long will it take, to get to the fifth floor? Too long. But now we can kiss each other at least, as we couldn't earlier. This lift is rickety and old, and it shakes alarmingly when you press me against the back of it and kiss me. I need you. You lift me, my legs around your waist and begin to grind against me, pushing me into the wall. I feel I can't stand it, my head spins. I need your fingers on me, inside me, on my clit. Please touch me there, I know it won't take me long now. Turn me around, I love the helplessness of this position. I can feel your cock pressing against my ass. I brace my hands against the wall and push back at you, leaning into you. I tilt my ass up towards you, pleading wordlessly. One hand slowly slides into my shirt, you trace my nipple with your fingers, rolling it between them. You pull my hair, pulling my head back so that you can kiss my mouth, my throat. I whimper, as your hand leaves my nipple, running down my body, pressing me into you and also caressing me, moving lower...Don't, not here, please. The gate-- Anyone can see... but you do.
I don't want to think, and when this overtakes me I let go. I will fuck you to the edge of exhaustion and beyond, attempt to lose myself in sensual oblivion. Lift me out of myself, is what I would say, if I could speak.
I yearn for this escape from the prison of self, from grief and loss. I want to outrun grief, race it. I would outrun it if I could, even if it meant running til my heart burst.
I won't know where I am when I wake at 4, but your warmth next to me and your breathing will comfort me. I'll lie awake there for awhile listening to the city's beating heart too, muted now late. The cars move through the arteries of the streets. Rain against your window like a breath.
In your sleep you will stir and reach for me, next to you I will sink down again, seeking the oblivion of sleep now.
Darkness outside. Inside, the radio's prayer -
Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre.
Carol Ann Duffy, Prayer
My wishes now come homeward,
Their gallopings in vain,
Logic and lust are quiet,
Once more it starts to rain.
Falling asleep I listen
To the falling London rain.
Louis MacNiece, London RainLabels: 2006, eurydice, london, shipping forecast |
Closed/on Hiatus
![Your writing in the other hand [sic] is pure filth and disgusting.](http://www.gotbears.com/gund/sesamestreet/75985.jpg){kind=link}