his shadow bores me, his wordplay bores me, no mystery anymore in the beauty he paints, too fragile, too vulnerable, too graceful, his kisses are probably getting boring, no more after flavor, nothing linger. i cant feel the sharpness of his words that still dripping in my head, they dont tickle me down there anymore, they dont make me come anymore.
I dont see kids running around in the park. I dont see their bright smile and stare from under my breasts. I dont see anything but that female figure standing at the tip of a cliff far above the clouds as if listening to the stories told by the moon. And the urge, is to be with her.
Thin air. It presents. It never left. Naked bodies, wash and move on after thousand kisses, the smile and fragrance linger a while more, but evaporate as I roll over another day. The desire to feel real, that this heart can bleed, but like thin air, how can I bleed when i can not feel. I am the memories.