An old tune
and the friction between two worlds, two states, two bodies tell me that waiting is a lot like an addiction.
The more I wait the more I forget why I started it in the first place.
When the foreplay happens, when she roars like ocean,
like unforgiving motion,
in liquid orgasm…
in whispering blossom…
I wait…I wait.
To be done, to be broken in salient pieces.
In a way art is to find all the magnificent imperfections within,
art is to plot the waiting,
matching the lunacy
and taking the wind like a helpless kite.
The greatest wisdom is perhaps in knowing that we are the atoms of pure cravings and absolute mockery of vanity…
Shoot the whiskey, wait till the end and take the last drop of pleasure with a dignity of sheer knowledge.

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Photograph: Wattpad.com