.march fifth. I'm struggling inside. His hands are pressed gently/violently against soft flesh. Dizziness sets in; delerium mingles with sharp flashes of paranoia. Oh, kill me. Oh, my God, kill me, softly, and let your scarlet lips melt against my own choking, my own gasping. I will not show my fear. Kill me, my love. Press your fingers like great indentions into my yielding flesh. I will not fight. I will not buckle beneath you. I will not breathe in my state of ecstasy. I see my life passing slowly before my eyes, flashes of moments yet to live, soft flesh smothering my own. His fingers still integrated into my flesh. Bright flashes of light and torrents of rain come down hard as i gasp for release. I stare at the flames, so many flames, radiating like his eyes, curious, loving, as I reach for my last breath of life. Surrender, yes, I'll give myself up to you. I want to melt beneath soft flesh. I am afraid. I am insecure. If you could look into me, you would be amazed at my fear. I want this, yes, this surrender. I want to come to a yield before you, here with you, enclosed in clouds and seeking out the stars. Your mouth, so lush, so hungry as you fingers intertwine, interlock about my throat. I'm gasping, with my least breath, for singular moment of exquisiteness with you.