What would a touch feel like if it would land on the soft of the skin, flow through the breast of the pounding heart.It's unwaivering sense of presence, it's weight upon the touch of the nakedness. Can you imagine the urge of being there,endlessly fuming for the minute space that determines the truth of all your lust, the difference between nothingness and the bond of intense love.
The furious attraction between what you have and what you want. The tragedy of it all, the awe of all of it. You can only reach, with a true uncertainty, for the cottonous nothing before you.
And imagine the fabulous world ahead, something you will never be able to endure.Nor I.
And then what do you have?
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