Feb. 16, 2004 @ 5:58 p.m.

As I wrap myself in your skin, sweat bleeds from my pores into yours. Cardinal lust is like candied goodness that produces taste-filled cravings for joy over time. Lust becomes love like a worm becomes a budding, bountiful, beautiful butterfly. What astounded me with surprise now confines comfort in your specialty, captivating my senses within a cage the size of your world. This decorated cage, with toys that smell of you and mental picture frames hanging from the paint-treated bars as my pet name paradise teases my memories of your existence. Lungs heaving, body thrusting, exotic breathing, heat rising into the air as we make the Catholic Church blush candy apple red. God didn’t intend for you to feel this good, because nothing is this perfect. The waiting and longing to get lost in your arms after purifying the air with the clean, sour smell of ecstasy manifested in liquid form tugs at me like a large child in want. Pink is pleasure and you are my addiction. I dream for my fix and awaken in it’s arms.