that feel when thousands and thousands of years perfected not mankind but a single pair, where ancestor once kept within itself the shared attributes that alone meant nothing but spread, rearranged, and molded lovingly over the millenia across a forest of family trees became a continuous fabric, divided barely by the epidermus we try each night to slither free of to press soul-to-soul under my harry potter blanket, when the muses gather in an orgy to clusterfuck me with words and images and feelings that my brittle, flawed hands can't manifest in any physical manner, but that can seep free in satisfying doses when I press my face against yours and breathe in the smell under your shampoos and soaps and deoderant. when my reincarnation cycle has ceased, and i can count the years i have remaining on this earth since the orogeny of my inherent self, and it's soothing rather than stressful. You're my warm bed after a long day, my soft coffin after a hard life.


love is having someone to pop your backne!