Tremors In The Smoke - Sex Stories

Tremors In The Smoke

All fiction traces back to some truthful spark, some tremor splitting through the earth and shaking every inch of the skyline that grows more veiled by the hour. Towering clouds of black smoke from buildings set ablaze, from bridges helplessly burning, each dancing and licking flame is a memory we made or locked together. Even if the fires border all I know, I will remain still and count the broken windows and falling bridges, clinging to the vulnerable places love opened up from within me. No matter what fiction our time together writes, I was never made of stone. I'll trace back to something missing in your touch when we're tangled so close together, gaps in the words passing through your lips that don't let me any farther inside you. Like peering through a beautiful lens that cannot decipher certain angles, even when you say there are no secrets left here between us. That I was the only one there so patiently unraveling the being beneath the skin and smoke, pieces of someone I can glean and glide my hands along, fragments never merging to assume a familiar shape. And even when the fires border all I know, I will remain still and count the tremors you have swept through me that lock together the vulnerable places love always opens from within. No matter what fiction our time writes, I was never made of stone.