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~Maybe~

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Maybe we have unfinished business, maybe its just because we’ve been there already so why beat around the bush now, maybe because the first time we wasted no time, all these years later maybe it still feels that’s what we need to do, want to do. Whose rules do we need to go by approaching it any other way? It obviously went where it went as quickly as it did almost on its own and neither of us rejected it or put the brakes on it.
Maybe something needed to be finished. Maybe its simply that who we were then is still part of who we are now; we are just picking up where we left off because that’s what we do, that’s who we are. Fuck the haters. Fuck the lovers. Maybe it’s just our time to go. Finish it. Start it. Fuck it.
Maybe it’s too complicated. Maybe we should open the hand holding that fist of sand and let it trickle, swirl, crash away.
Maybe it’s not complicated at all. And the eye of time will blink and we’ll be gone from existence anyway, swirling dust and nothing more, shadows bleeding out then away, then part of the consuming darkness, pulled into it, becoming absolute nothingness within absolute nothing. Maybe we want only to control our own absolution. Forcing movement, or maybe the touching of flesh will suspend it, letting us have that breath intertwined, time none the wiser, uninterrupted.
With that displaced intention, I place you as my sinful Idol made of flesh, beating heart and kindred soul. Your fingers interlock with mine; pulling me close to you so I can feel your heated skin, your breath against my neck, my cheek, warming my smile, cold from the outside.
The flesh is our altar, your taste my communion, the baptism our ecstatic crescendo, leaving us newly christened dripping in our consorted, steaming sweat and cum.
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