The sleeping bag is sticky against my skin and I can feel the grease in my hair even without touching it. I just want to get out of the tent and I know I’m not going to get any warmer but it’s the good kind of cold, because it smells like a new beginning, like whatever you’ve done in your life until then doesn’t matter, like it doesn’t exist, like you don’t exist, like you know no one and you don’t need to find a reason every morning.
I wonder if you’ve left the tent with the same feeling a touch earlier today. I wonder where you are. One day I’m going to be the first one to leave, I think....
I do get out and the world has been awake the whole night, I can see it in the dead colours, like the time stopped for the humans to catch up. I walk between the trees down the little hill, the leaves crack under my bare feet, and it hurts but only slightly, it’s the good kind of pain because it feels like I don’t need anything. I get the urge to feel that needling throughout my entire body, on every inch of my skin. Will you add the weight of your body for me to feel more like I need you?
I see you! Can you see me? I do lie down. I know you can see me now but you won’t smell me because I am under the wind, like a coyote firm in realisation of something that it can’t overpower. I close my eyes and open my legs, dry leaves tickle my thighs, your fingers sooth my sore skin. You moved fast, like a jaguar, paws so big but light on the claylike surface.
Your tongue gets inside me, and it’s wet and soft and fluid between the flesh, I can almost taste you from down there and I know you’re sweet because I can taste it in my mouth now, it’s like a reflex any time you are around. You just keep exploring me, drinking of me until nothing is left, until I am nothing and only then I can cum and drip what’s left of my body on your dry autumnal leaves.