Impulse and the In-Betweeners

I had this overwhelming sensation,

like that last sip of alcohol you take in

at the end of the night through which

you at once moan with pleasure but also know you’ve gone too far

and will be heaving up

grey skies

upon the morning.

This same sick sultry feeling

waltzed with

you and I   

as we walked down

dark paths

deep in some faint forgetful forest,

so familiar it was uncanny

with glow,

fucking ghostly groovy,

thus to just slide and do a two-step shuffle,

allowing myself to sink into the yummy moment,

just a breath’s width of time,

so catch it whilst

tis ever present

and hold her to your body

until she sighs with delight.

See, I didn’t consider myself,

until now,

as an impulse lover,

more just as a spirit,

sort of,

kinda,

in a body,

trying to make it by barely

for so long,

couldn’t look more

than one inhale ahead of me,

that’s the way of the wanderer

who has watched

her tribe suffer

and slowly die,

oh my,

the haunting of it.

So what was a lady dragon to do?

Must just suck down

the breaths

into her belly

til it aches so,

the task of surviving the fire breath,

the breath,

the breath.

And in the chaos moments,

one acts so fiercely on impulse

to please the ticks of the clock

as they stagger

into pleasure

somewhere in the ether spaces,

even in the midst

of the scorching days

in the springtime.

So the dragon,

when the world got too real,

would go to her brother

who told her

she was talented and amazing

and who lit the dark,

but who she then lost

to the other side

in a fit of steam and frenzy.

After he was gone,

there was then

a great thunder fog

which I cant quite remember,

but last night

I dreamt

of forests again,

and Im taking that

as a good omen.