cosmicspider

There is no delicate beauty in his landscape, Pockmarked and jagged from years of abuse, Fists veritable wrecking balls of flesh and bone, Wiry muscles flexing beneath scarred skin, Shoulders rolling like thunder as he works. It draws me like a doomed moth to flame. Savagery and animal behavior keep me close, Sweat beads on our skin like dewdrops at dawn, Proof of our inexhaustible excitement for the other. I know the feeling of that frame bucking back, Roughness unavoidable, part of the appeal, Somehow yielding blind tenderness to me, and In the deep darkness it slithers out unconsciously, Pulling my offered warmth and softness closer, Co...