Conflicted

Every breath that she takes is a blessing. At times I almost mistake to confessing that the best thing isn’t even when she’s done undressing, and our lips get to caressing, sucking, teasing, and testing leaving love marks while I feel her insides flexing.. . No, it may be her stares, and how they are sublime beyond compare, and almost blind with little care. How her eyes search for mine, ceasing all concepts of time while I try to find what makes her so divine. They glisten and shine and I long for yet hide from this attention. Like she can see my obsession or recognize that with every breath in I’m searching for her essence. My need for her exceeds mere acquiescence. Or how I get lost in her thoughts. When she speaks I’m twisted into knots as the sky rips open and I feel the heavens when she talks. I begin to find things about myself that I never even sought. My insides scream at my thoughts while my ignorance begins to rot. And despite this I’m more miserable than I have ever thought. I’m broken, I can't elegantly turn my obsession into action. She infuses me with such passion yet my mind cannot fashion how to showcase this complete satisfaction. So as always I turn to sexual gratification. With every breath and dripping sweat I express how you’ve arrested my regrets, and yet I fret that it seems I love you for what we do rather than who you are. Yet by far every thrust, shiver, and scar is a testament to the stars that I could not exist with us apart. That us molded together is the most priceless of art. And although your moans sighs and cries may not reveal all you do to my heart. Whenever I gaze into your eyes while our world is tearing apart, I hope that it’s a start.