a sad alligator

i feel the pull of his desire as he approached me, slow and deliberate, slicing through a fog of unspent passion that seemed almost tangible, thick like the shadows in an ovidian tale. when our noses brushed in a languid, teasing dance, and before my tongue reached to taste his, i could sense the molten heat radiating between us—an invisible thread that seemed to hum like the tension in a lautrec, au lit: le baiser, embrace, charged yet tender. for nights, i had painted him in my consciousness, crafting visions of his body pressing against mine, turning me onto sheets of crimson, clinging delicately to my breasts as though sculpted by the hands of bernini. the linen, cool at first, warmed under the weight of our intimacy—the sacred and profane colliding in an electric symphony of skin and breath.

é como se a amizade mais forte, fora da luz zenital da idealização, também incluisse suas áreas de sombra

so ancient is the desire for one another that it is implanted in us, uniting our original nature, making one out of two, and healing the state of man