The affliction of lust, boils the blood intimately. Driving skin to crave warm caresses, and dive in the decadence of soiled sheets.
The pleasure of innocence lost, and knowledge at the climax. Perhaps it’s a study session in climaxes. There is intricacy in connection at the apex of smooth thighs, or decibels of pleasure ridden cries.
Smut dripping smiles, that beckon the weary to experience a physical inquiry. One that rides, and dines in all the right places leaving sticky faces.
The mess of lust is a market of fine dining, and workouts that leave us all breathless. Riddled with intensity or laughter, or hushed words of love in the middle.
The things said during the dance of sweaty bodies, the ones that leave the mind curious if there’s more beyond the decadence of touches and thrusts. Unaware that even here there is no trust.
The sheets don’t hold promises, only the mess of quick orgasms and unsatisfaction. The pillow talk, mindless in its abandoned insertions of the faces never staying long. The truth of intimacy is not a place to belong when the soul is searching for love on the wrong tongue.
- Lost in you, Jade 🌵