Georges Delerue - Theme de Camille
Sometimes I feel like I'm falling apart in a dropper of silence while millions of arrows embedded in my spine pleasure exhaling through this extensive network I am, a bundle of nerves, a Big Bang of neuronal synapses. I caress my pussy soaked with the miraculous dirt that covers me to realize the delight of being alive. I see in my flesh density the depth of my lust, the magic hole that collects my lust with the effectiveness of a tornado. Me as much energy may seem as static.
Everything seems to stop. Time does not exist at that time. I do not even exist, or at least I am not. Just know that I am in a wet and abstruse, is not a place, perhaps even more like period as the time when the water goes from liquid to gas, a part of our nature which we have not found a name, as sometimes the mechanics of the words is so complex, we call orgasm, ecstasy, spasm, I do not know ... go crazy.
Sometimes I feel suspended in that state, just a trickle float from the fingers of the gods, and am able to pick up the happiness in that period and stuffed into my veins as a junkie of fortune. My meat is loosened and softened, my pores breathe on their own as spores, all of which is air in me is a gasp. My brain does not respond to consciousness. I wish my sex gushes in spurts.
And today, this moment is yours. Rightfully yours. My heart was twisting in my blood spreading diastole, thickening, from something dark in your will, something numinous and ineffable pleasure of giving. I heard my own voice trembling with pleasure as something alien to me, distant and strange. And I diluted in absolute silence, a silence at all, of the self. There was only at that moment my body tremble in your desires and a cry, maybe it was mine, and broke that silence in bits falling on me as a lovely shower of confetti and magic.
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