Capetonification

its a smell she has.
i freakishly sniff my fingers after they've been inside her
her smell
it is sex itself
zero to hard in 10 mental images
A Pavlovian reprobate
I think of her body.
breasts untouched by the effects of the world
small nipples
a pink so perfect
Like the buds of a flower personally crafted by god
long legs
firm flanks
sleek belly
smooth ivory skin
speckled in freckles.
I want to connect the dots with my tongue
on her oh-so-fucking-beautiful body

she's in my blood
strumming my heart
stretching it
tearing at it
slamming it
ripping it the fuck up
like some ode to Jimmy Hendrix

She is a goddess
Her body a temple
When I worship between those walls
my grip on reality weakens
the world is nothing
there are no thoughts
no memories
no cares
no responsibilities
no past no future
All that exists is that room
on that bed
at that moment
at that moment
I am uplifted
I am exulted
I am repented
saved
hallelujah

Some Call it love
Sex
Fucking
the pinnacle of human connection
to be so deep
so elevated
so completely consumed by a moment
an act of shared desire
a person

I look up from my keyboard.
No room.
No goddess.
around me the office shuffles along.
I put my fingers to my nose
I can still smell it.
Smell her.
Sex itself.