Make Out Meditation

54 sec read

Her breaths of pleasure fell on the sides
of my neck, she turned waywardly and
the breath, warm as red, brushed my nape.
I shock-waved my body into existence.

Dragon breaths fired on each other’s necks
and once in a while her hair would make its way
into my mouth, but I didn’t mind. Our faces
stuck on each other’s cheeks, heads sideways.

The camisole, a furnace, burnt with the heat
her body emanated continuously, so hot it
stupefied me. I enquired, she said it was alright,
that it was normal blistering of the sun in her.

The shutter of my eyes, shut itself, when
the lips pursed and touched in the storm of
two monsters fighting as if they loved each other.
The apparent sweetness of souse, felt

like an endless arena of water battles. The
air that the fan crushed unto us, in vain in
its attempts to evaporate sweat from our chests.
Our cheeks kept caressing each other lovingly.

The highs and the lows, the gasps, touches of
the toes, the moans of lightning excitations. The
interwreathing of the flowers of her finger scrolls
on my back. The pleasantries exchanged in
silence that night drew upon us. Dumbfounding.

In a twinkling of the end, there was a blank slate,
the black and the white boards swiped to their
length and breadth. A staunch mark on each
other, we had left, of fleeting pleasure and

what had begun at the speed of yeast outgrowth
vanished quicker than the passing of the present moment.
Our stares deserted each other and with benevolent
hands on each other’s heads, we began to meditate.

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