“A Slacker’s Guide to the Galaxy/Rolling, Stoned”

I felt it coming before she did, honestly. That’s my fault — forging bonds where they aren’t ready to be; Silver Surfer in the constellations, I can find stardust that is radiant to me.

Shit, she got no posts. I hit follow anyway, just in case she decide to leave that situation.

Yo. I know what you mean — obviously from the giving end. Just on some adult shit; I’m not coming at you. That good shit. That shit that makes kissing sounds with every stroke. That in them guts, nails in a nigga’s back, both hands gripping ass, bodies sliding in this cool ass weather shit. That, where you going? You can’t run from this. That kiss and suck on the clit, grinding my face with the hips…shit. That gallon of water by the bed, towels laid, perfect Playlist shit. Shit…

That’s my toes wiggling in freedom. The tropical climate and Japanese whiskey, observing the mane on that wild mare, with hips and thighs perfect, coincidentally.

I try and change my Muse, because they get tired of standing on the same pedestal that someone takes time to build for them. Black Orpheus, trading some life for a Eurydice — repeatedly. And why not? Eventually, we all get old. Eventually…