Writing is the neglected Lover who calls me away from a stifling my 13 hour workdays. It is the hunger that demands to be fed. The passion that must be satisfied.
The dilemma: money vs. true love. I need the money but I must feed my soul. Only when I answer the voice of my muse am I truly engaged in this life.
My fervor is akin to amusing myself with dilettantes whilst the face of my Lover is ever before me. The Lover is the orgasm I seek on a nightly basis.
I feel his long slender fingers playing over my body like the keyboard on a piano.
The music he produces brings an exotic mixture of pain and ecstasy. It’s an addiction that dominates my mind, soul, spirit and body. A craving only he can satisfy.
Only his lean taut body, his touch can bring me to spiritually fulfilling orgasmic pleasure when after hours of lovemaking I lock my legs around his torso in those final eternal moments of sensual paradise.
Sometimes he comes to me on the wings of a night bird. A beautiful dark & twisted fantasy. A Midnight Dream so real you’ve only exchanged one dimension for another. Whilst the full moon reigns I pass through many long and varied portals. I taste the sounds of evening on your lips. Feel the words slipping through fingers. The crested muse rides the galactic wave gliding silently o’er my cerebral universe seeking a docking station whereby I may be subsumed into His flesh.