Her spine cracked as he pressed her open. releasing the pages, but not their words. all people are books. diaries full of shame and anticipation.
every touch. given or received. is an attempt to be heard. seen. known.
the pleasure in feeling someone. or being felt by them lies in the idea that some of that ink you wear will rub off on them. and when they look at it you'll not be alone. no matter where either of you are.
the seduction is life. so full of it we are. must pierce the skin to release all that pressure boiling within.
we're all words. written in both ink and in pencil. held hostage by the silence. but when we touch, it's as though we've spoken at last.
