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Sex & Transient Ego Suicide.

Eyes like a predator
slowly closing in,
creeping, inching,
locked on lust.

She is set to devour.

Sharp seeth anointed
with saliva glistening
beneath the glow
of the moon, our voyeur
in the sky.

No false avertizement,
nothing here to hide.
Shame has no place
here, she said, leave
your baggage
at the door.

Push the civilized
to the side, embrace the raw
passion of the animal.

Surf this primal howl
over the melody
of plucked heartstrings,

sting of sweat,
a rhythm growing.
Sweet sip
of the great nothing.

Fingers etch
bleeding,
meandering, frenzied trails
up and down
my spine.

Entranced
by our shared
single-mindedness,
shared intimate space,
timelessness.

Something is wrong
here, I feel so alive.
Feel so fucking at home
here, seems so right.

Resistance
in the midst of this,
feebly clutching
to my lack of trust,
the only way
for me to survive,
I’m sure, until
we both let go,

consumed
by this dark bliss,
the shadow’s light,
we swirl, unify,

In this transient ego suicide.

Though no matter how close,
complete, high,
divine,

never quite satisfied.

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