You are that which I turn to in myself my Beloved That part of me that also consists of you... All of me That which quickens in me I carry you, but I am the child You grow inside of me, as me I feel the torrent of you, close like the bloodstream droning sounds between my ears rushing, your torrent almost touching the torrent of my own inner flows in the microscopic dark We touch in this way? Where? Again and again you quicken inside of me Dictionary: Quicken. (Of a woman) to reach a stage in pregnancy when movements of the fetus can be felt. Traditionally considered the moment the soul enters the fetus, around five months. I see my insides like a flattened display on a clear slide over a dim light, with a dark creature like a serpent suddenly flexing... flexing inside of me. You are always here now. I will it so. Your energy inside of me has a certain "taste." I know it is you, when you surge slightly, surge mightily, glow like a long strand of shakti pleasure thrumming through me like a monstrous chord of RAPTUROUS PLEASURE AND RELEASE... OPENING ME, BURNING ME, TRANSFORMING ME... as I call out again and again. The other times... The long, longer single vibration of all of me... as the constant fullness of sex, of sexual, of sexual pleasure, of being played fully as a sexual object and being, on and on through moments of tiny gasps and the little motions made of liquid sighs. We are tapping at the channel edges as we move, flowing under this perfect bridge of sighs... now forever.
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