My hands, your flesh.

There is a world close to this one. A world of desire, of joy. A world of mending hearts and hot, lusty fucking. This world brims and spills over with our fluids.

My cum. Your cream. Our saliva. Our tears. A trace of blood.

This world is you. You soak my sheets, leaving behind a puddle. It becomes a stain. Meanwhile, I stain you.

My hand-prints are totems. Your new welts and weals and bruises and raw pussy, the hills over the ocean. The scar on your heart a ship breaking the surf. I am a crow, perched, watching the sails.

My cock throbs with: anticipation, a little regret, longing, memory, and dream. It's pulsing time, the beat of that song (that one that came on while we fucked). This world is so close. Is it past or future. My hands, your flesh. And yours, on mine.