Anti-Hero

I want to touch you like it was our first time. Both of us. Nervous, eager, excited, anxious. I want my hands to run along the curves of your body like a marathon runner finally hitting his stride, effortlessly and in process of that runner’s high. My fingers dance across the stage of your skin, pirouetting along your frame and landing perfectly each time until they become b-boys: quickly pacing and flaring intensely, beautifully, defying gravity.

I want to feel your heart against mine, I want that barrier of personal space to be abolished like slavery, be free with me my Emancipation Proclamation. And with two levels of heat rubbing against each other, the tectonic plates of our bodies collide and create mountains and shake the world we are in.

I want you to shudder and feel all the cliches that someone would use to describe two persons in motion: fireworks, indescribable, amazing. But further more, I want you to melt into me so we can no longer be me and you, but just us. When I kiss you down your neck to your collar bone I want to feel your internal combustion and feel the wheels inside you turn and mesh with the cogs of mine.

Your heart is racing. My heart is sprinting. Let’s cross the finish line together, no brakes.