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,
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.

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