Icarus's blog: "Just South of Blue."

I can't find the way.
The words are gone.
Like a knife that won't cut.
Not even your soft, sweet, pink little fingers.
Unbidden little bites, while you absently slide down the edge.
Dancing with excitement, and longing.
The sting and sever
all but ejaculatory glimpses of red and splitting skin.

Oh, how I miss these little talks.
My hands on your neck, bare and erotic disgust inside you.
Raspy coughs, safety squirms
and wriggly, feeble gestures for air or ecstasy.

I could never tell the difference.
The words are gone.

And she is, still.