luscious satin router

This marriage bed is medicinal; hospitality reigns. Where are we? In the dust of germs floating in the rooster crow of the sun, the sun stabs through the blinds. I can feel you behind me in blind embrace, your skin so warm that it makes my dead body seem vital. My eyes are shut, though I'm aware of your naked impulsiveness. This bed is ours now, pure, raw, and able to accommodate two men in love. Your evening signal transcends my mind, teaches me how to play well with your parts. Movements you use to match my fitful awakening, silence is demanded by your animal side.
The sun is a serial killer out for blood.
Your skin is so dark, like a drop of tan in a pool of white. The nurses are walking past us now, and we afraid to say anything because it could lead to danger. Whispering, you have begun whispering in my ears to summon the practice of breeding. Surrendering all to you in the bacteria we emit, your dirt is my dirt now and we share the devil. Sleepy as I was, somehow unable to shift the gravity of the death of us, unable to keep you close to me; reality was calling you back into waking.
This bed is full of your scent, the rage and the sweat of a fulfilled sinful match never meant to be. Wrap your clothing like a shroud around me; let me breathe in your tense nature.
We are perfect. Puzzle pieces have now found their master, and I'll frame the puzzle
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when its done. We match. You come from another land, another time, to wake me up and show me my youth is real. We cannot truly be one; you wouldn't understand my shamelessness. My freedom is mine, and it's not for sale. We are ring -less, single, bounding throughout the galaxy of lies. Only when I hold you tight inside me, you cannot escape the grasp of my worship. You had rushed over me like a head wound, laying me down on the battlefield until I pass unto glory.
Your jewels reminds me of the nights before that we have laid in bliss, drinking the orgasm of our slow death together.
Shine like the jewels you possess, and let me see your sweat pound out Morse codes now. When i wake you wont remember this dream; that would be too tragic for you; a man from an island, not used to doing these things except in agonizing dreams.