cum conservation

there are nights like tonight. where the silence is so defeaning, even the calligraphy of our sighs becomes ear-splitting.

so we succumb to darkness. to what little heat we could satiate each other with. to the rough sense of belongingness my palms feel when it wanders on the carpeted landscape of your chest. to the surge of eureka each time your tongue dies in my belly button. to the undeniable harmony of my claws and your wings.

to my lips and yours.

to the million little earthquakes we make under the sheets.

and that odd fetish of not wanting to waste even a drop of our explosions.