Drunken on devotion, my dreams drill deep into you. Plowing. Churning. Reaping at your soil as if tonight's harvest was the last...as though, this moment is the last fruitful season.
We've been waiting for this night. On the wings of high anticipation, our most primal passions take flight. Suckling. Panting. Gnawing on each other's flesh. Tonight, I will be depositing my seed into the stars.
Make a wish.
Drunken on the wine of the unborn, it's rich vermillion shade excites me. I swear, I could hear my ancestor's drums banging in my ears as I smeared across my belly and chest. Celebratory cymbals and bells rang as I coated my face. The taste of life on my tongue, made my blood dance in my veins!
Covered in scarlet, I visualized: lengthy strands of zeroes in my bank account...Sterling, luxury items sparkling in my chambers...Exotic natives rubbing my feet and toes. Plowing. Churning. Reaping every last drop of what could be...as though, this moment is the last fruitful moment.
Flowing from me,
Will not return to me void.
|"Peter Stark" by Dylan Rosser|