An Absolute Feast

Scared? I was never scared, not ever, I mean, I am never, and I know, its natural, what lies between you and me, what we've made and what we will, like things that bud and things that fall, oh, just listen to me; I'm gushing. Gushing would be apt, right? And you? You're sweating, or you will be, on me, from above and I don't mean palms nor bullets. Tastes like distilled carnality and feels like pinprick entry wounds; wet, happy, small scale splashes. Limitless, undying love described with a hydroelectric vernacular: not nearly good enough. Poor words always set up for spectacular failure, because no symbol like a letter or a glyph comes close to describing how it makes me feel when you come in closer. It was an absolute feast.