new. as evrything has been over this past year. everythibng seems new. damn. i can’t type stoneed. i can sit in the window and perch on the ledge and e a bird if i want to. i can look down at the cement below my window, at the the blades of grass slipping up through the pavement. in through the blades to the darkness between to the dirt, glistening from the tiny shafts of sunlight that reach below the surface of the canopy. and there, quietly meditating his day, swallowing another mouthful of dirt, is my worm. i call it, it’s mine. no one else can have it. oh and it’s brown and slick and wet from last nights fog that shut out the noise of people below me. oh, and it’s wrything.
the body of my lover who i have just massaged with mine. sticky and smothered. a warmth i can stay in all day. i am now me again. i am sitting ontop of my lover, our lips open and our clits touching. barely a move either way, and a feeling shoots up my spine.