If I am a thing under Heaven, most assuredly you are a thing
more resplendent still. The charm in your countenance, the hazel in your eyes;
these are the glimpses of Heaven afforded to me by a God of Divine Commodity.
Is there an affection as balmy that can swathe me in amorous embraces, cradle
me in velveteen arms, succor with kisses warm & fervent?
If I were condemned to die one hundred days from now, I would long for nothing than to spend them with you. For those 100 days we could lie, two creatures mingled into one. Let them call “Blasphemy!” Even so, we will be as a single entity, savages tethered together at the waist, a maelstrom of testosterone, a whirlwind of grunts, a paradise of lurid dominance & honeyed passivity…
And in the exquisite interludes of rest, between all the bucking, and all the pumping, there is you: your skin, fleecy & unyielding at once, those orbs of your eyes again, your lips beaming (and mine locked to them), the small of your back (and my palm resting there upon), your downy legs (tangled with my own)… these are your gifts to me, these are the quickest of glances of the realm above, permitted only in fleeting instances.
But for one hundred days, I would know bliss. I would have you in a sepia world, on an altar of stars, canopies of satin in whorls around our private galaxy. Only you. Only me. Only us. Things under Heaven.
-CAS 10.19.15
If I were condemned to die one hundred days from now, I would long for nothing than to spend them with you. For those 100 days we could lie, two creatures mingled into one. Let them call “Blasphemy!” Even so, we will be as a single entity, savages tethered together at the waist, a maelstrom of testosterone, a whirlwind of grunts, a paradise of lurid dominance & honeyed passivity…
And in the exquisite interludes of rest, between all the bucking, and all the pumping, there is you: your skin, fleecy & unyielding at once, those orbs of your eyes again, your lips beaming (and mine locked to them), the small of your back (and my palm resting there upon), your downy legs (tangled with my own)… these are your gifts to me, these are the quickest of glances of the realm above, permitted only in fleeting instances.
But for one hundred days, I would know bliss. I would have you in a sepia world, on an altar of stars, canopies of satin in whorls around our private galaxy. Only you. Only me. Only us. Things under Heaven.
-CAS 10.19.15
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