Under Current …

Sometimes that under-current of friction is way too tempting to resist, and I find that the more I attempt to push it aside and ignore it, the stronger it becomes. It is overwhelming … suffocating … yet it is also liberating and taunts with a pseudo sense of freedom. The likes I have never before seen, tasted or experienced.

Seriously?

Thoughts are brutal in their faux-pas endearments of persuasion. Heights obtained as I clamor for that out-of-reach something that has proven to be quite elusive. If not out-right deviant in its pursuit. But of what? Me?

What of that dream? That dream that continues to reveal nothing more than bits and pieces. Macabre images that challenge the imagination to seek complacency when the same mind abhors the very fact of giving in; unless it is misconstrued and should be defined as giving-up.

Is there a definitive explanation to which questions are asked and the answers are provided in a whimsical manner that leave a person breathless? Condemned? Wanting, more or less, to be fulfilled and then have it announced that satisfaction is complete.

Yes … that under-current of friction is way too tempting to resist. And upon further reflection … that tid-bit … that delectable morsel that thrives within to flourish and weep as the body succumbs to that firey touch that has laid claim before.

Passion … those woven threads of lust and desire that copulate and become synchronized from a glance … a caress … a smoldering kiss that manifests into something wild and abandoned ….

That friction – that under-current that lies in wait and when it strikes, refuses to let go until well fed and sated.